


Covenant - Schism

by shadowwalker213



Series: Covenant [2]
Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-09-19 04:03:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 79,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20324797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowwalker213/pseuds/shadowwalker213
Summary: Crossover with the movie "Ruckus".





	1. Chapter 1

_The most confused we ever get is when we try to convince our heads of something our heart knows is a lie. - Karen Marie Moning_

**October 26 1973 - 2 Years, 8 months, 24 Days**  
  
Roy Cleary stared up at the wall of his office. At that piece of paper in the beautiful frame. "Doctor Royal Cleary, Ph.D., Clinical Psychology." Sounded so grand, so official, so...knowledgeable.  
  
So why couldn't he get his patient to put on a pair of pants? Or stop running at walls? Or eat?  
  
He rubbed his eyes and turned back to the file on his desk. The answer had to be in there someplace. Something to give him the key, open the door, if only for a moment. Some way to connect with the man.  
  
The interview the Army conducted with Mathew Arnhold, describing in detail (except where the Army had blacked out locations and units) his first meeting with Kyle Hanson and Templeton Peck. The conditions they were living in. The escape.  
  
Nothing there described the man in the 'rubber room'. Undoubtedly he felt the same guilt Arnhold did about this Peck taking the flak to keep the other two healthy enough for the escape, and Peck's death undoubtedly added to that, but that was the 'normal' survivor guilt all soldiers felt to some degree. Certainly nothing to cause this kind of behavior.  
  
The report from Benjamin Green offered more insight. Finding Hanson in the second camp, the conditions he was held in...like an animal. No way of knowing how or when he'd actually escaped, or how he'd survived before being picked up.  
  
He looked disgustedly at the third and final file, from the Saigon Embassy. Thankfully the doctor there had been detail-oriented, but he definitely had no idea how to handle someone like Kyle. And the initial treatment...  
  
There had to be something.  
  
Shaking his head, he headed once more for the padded room where they had been forced to place the sergeant. They'd put him in a secured room at first, and he'd nearly destroyed it in his attempts to escape. Orderlies had managed to get him dressed in the regulation hospital pajamas twice, only to have him literally rip them off again. Food plates were thrown against the walls. Dr Marquez had strongly urged tranquilizing him, but Roy had been afraid someone would get hurt in the attempt.  
  
He stood, watching through the small window, as Kyle made another run at the door. He couldn't do any real harm to himself in there, other than exhausting himself. Which was the only time he stopped. This time, he fell to the floor and started pounding on it with his fist.  
  
Roy knew why he hated being locked in. Green's report made that obvious. But they couldn't very well let the man run naked through the halls. Why did he hate those pajamas so much? They were just thin, flimsy...  
  
Arnhold. Arnhold's description of the prison garb - thin, flimsy, pajama-like trousers. Worn constantly, day after day, week after week...  
  
He hurried down to the basement, where the patient "store" was. Donated items the patients could buy for 'tokens'. He grabbed one of the volunteers and together they started searching.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he stepped carefully into the 'rubber room'. Kyle had immediately gone to the far corner, as he always did when someone entered, but his eyes were glued to the door behind Roy.  
  
Waiting.  
  
Roy smiled and lay the nearly new pair of soft corduroy slacks on the floor.  
  
"I thought you might like some 'real' clothes, Kyle."  
  
He smiled again, and carefully backed out of the room, slipping through the door before Kyle could get up.  
  
It had taken him some time - suspicion was still the SOP - but after nearly two hours, Kyle had put on the slacks.  
  
And then proceeded to ram the door.  
  
**December 22 1973 - 2 Years, 10 Months, 20 Days**  
  
It had taken some doing. First, convincing the doctors, and then getting Murdock to agree to try. But, after a full four weeks of 'good behavior', Murdock was given a pass to spend Christmas with his 'uncle'. Considering how long he'd been confined to the hospital complex, Hannibal decided they would go up north, do some wilderness camping. They all could use some time away from the city, not to mention a good old-fashioned workout.  
  
Now, Hannibal sat at the top of the hill, watching. BA was coming up fast, but not as fast as he used to move, and Hannibal wasn't real happy about that. Murdock would keep up, for a while, and then stop to check out some flower or bug or frog - or maybe nothing at all. And then he'd run to catch up again. That was okay with the colonel. Letting him run off some of that pent-up energy was one reason for the whole trip.  
  
Wiley was further down the hill, and it was obvious he was struggling. He started out good, but almost immediately started losing speed, and he was breathing hard. He finally stopped completely several yards from the top, bending over, coughing and spitting. With a frown at the others, Hannibal headed down the hill.  
  
Wiley had straightened up by the time Hannibal reached him and gave a small chuckle, followed by another cough.  
  
"Sorry, Hannibal. Too much soft living, I guess."  
  
"Are you all right, Wiley?" There was no humor in Hannibal's voice.  
  
Wiley sobered. "I don't know. I thought I'd picked up a bug, but that was almost three weeks ago. I, uh...I've got an appointment set up, see what's going on." He smiled. "God bless employee benefits, huh?"  
  
Hannibal just shook his head. "Maybe we'll take it easy this week. Oh, don't worry," he forestalled Wiley's protest, "we'll be working out. But more along the lines of building up, not toning. And you let me know if there's any problems, got it?"  
  
"Sure, Hannibal. Uh," he nodded up the hill, where BA had Murdock in a vise grip, "we'll probably get enough exercise just keeping those two apart."  
  
Hannibal grinned. Some things never changed.  
  
**January 16 1974 - 2 Years, 11 Months, 14 Days**  
  
"I think he's making good progress, don't you agree?" Roy smiled as they looked across the cafeteria.  
  
"Well, if you consider keeping his clothes on and eating to be progress, I suppose he has." Jeff shook his head and sat down at the staff table. "He's still refusing to eat any meat."  
  
"So he's decided to be a vegetarian. Nothing wrong with that."  
  
"And he still won't shower unless we leave the door open - which, I might add, has caused more than a few problems with other patients."  
  
"Jeff..."  
  
"He doesn't talk, won't take his pills, and he still can't - or won't - control his aggression. He's spent more time in lockup than any other patient."  
  
"You call it aggression, but he sees it as defending himself. And I was going to talk to you about that lockup business. I thought it was agreed that was doing more harm than good."  
  
"Carrot and stick, Roy. He ignores the carrots, so..."  
  
"So every time you put him in there, I have to practically start all over again. He cannot deal with being locked up. That's been quite obvious from the start."  
  
"Then he'd better start learning how to follow the rules. Look, I know the guy must have gone through shit in that camp, but so did others and they didn't fall apart."  
  
"Don't even start with that Slap-Them-into-Shape Patton crap, Jeff. Nobody knows the details yet because he won't talk. And your method of treatment is not going to change that. Sometimes I wonder why you even went into psychology."  
  
"To help the guys that really need it. Soldiers." Dr Marquez abruptly stood and left the cafeteria, shooting the object of their argument an angry look.  
  
Roy sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table. He and Marquez had locked horns before, but never like this. He would have to talk to the administrator; Jeff's interference with his patient had to stop.  
  
So maybe he was being overly optimistic. Kyle had made progress, but only to the point where he didn't need constant supervision. The 'panics' had nearly disappeared, and most of the more primal behaviors had as well. But...  
  
He stood, and looked over at the sergeant. Sitting by himself, as usual, in the far corner. He'd more or less staked that out as his. Roy sighed. Kyle's lunch sat on the table in front of him, untouched, while Kyle stared through the window.  
  
No, he didn't need constant supervision, but he did need someone to help him focus. Another thing to discuss with the Administrator. He'd requested a volunteer 'helper' for Kyle a couple weeks ago, but so far none had been assigned. Not surprising, really. The sergeant's reputation from those early days hadn't diminished with time.  
  
Shaking his head, Roy headed over to the table.  
  
What he really needed was a friend.  
  
**May 29 1974 - 3 Years, 3 Months, 27 Days**  
  
BA looked over at Wiley. His best friend. He knew there was something wrong, but he'd been pretty sure of that for some time. And it wasn't just that flu thing that kept hanging on.  
  
"So you gonna tell me or just sit there and stew about it?"  
  
"About what?"  
  
BA fixed Wiley with that "don't screw around with me" look.  
  
"I just have some things on my mind." He coughed, shook his head. "I don't know, maybe I'm just getting old. You know, you start thinking about things in the past..."  
  
"Like Nam?"  
  
"Well, yeah."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"I don't know. Just thinking about things that should've been...different."  
  
BA snorted. "Like the whole damn thing."  
  
Wiley looked out of the open garage door, watching the light midday traffic on the street.  
  
"I've been thinking about Face."  
  
BA slowly put the wrench down on the cloth covering the fender and turned to look at him. "Ain't much point in that, is there?"  
  
"Didn't do right by him, BA."  
  
BA picked up the wrench again, started wiping it off. "Ain't nothin we can do about that, either. Not now."  
  
"Do you ever...ever think maybe we were...that we..."  
  
"We did what we did. If I was to do things different...hell, I prob'ly wouldn't even been in Nam. But I'd'a give him a little more slack, yeah. But Murdock said he was okay with us. Said that priest told him that."  
  
Wiley let out a deep breath, coughing a little again. BA scowled at him.  
  
"So what's with that bug, man? You had it a long time. Too long, huh?" Wiley didn't answer, and BA again turned to look at him. "Wiley?"  
  
"It's cancer, BA."  
  
The wrench hit the concrete floor with a ringing echo. "What!"  
  
"Yeah. They, uh, said there's kind of a spot here, a spot there. Kinda...all over."  
  
"Oh, man..."  
  
"I don't want you to tell Hannibal. Or Murdock. Not yet."  
  
"Why not? I mean, Murdock, yeah, but Hannibal?"  
  
"Hannibal's got enough on his mind right now, with that movie deal. He's really excited about that, y'know? I'm not going to bring him down. I mean, it's not like there's anything he can do about it."  
  
"Yeah, but..."  
  
"But nothing. I'll tell him when I have to." He looked at the floor, and then up at BA. "I won't wait long, BA."

**December 1 1974 - 3 Years, 9 Months, 29 Days**  
  
"So, there's been no further progress?"  
  
"These things happen. You have to look at it in terms of a process, not necessarily progress."  
  
"Hmm." Major Shows tossed the file down the desk in front of Roy. "The Army, unfortunately, doesn't measure things that way. We look at results. And the results here are abysmal. The man's barely functioning."  
  
"He's not that bad, Major. He had a bit of a set back the other day but he's always come back from those."  
  
"Comes back, yes. Moves forward? No, I'm afraid we need to face some hard facts, Doctor. He's been here over a year. Only the special circumstances of his capture have kept him here this long. Once they read my report, I'm quite sure they'll start preparing to discharge him. Honorable, of course, but he'll be done as far as we're concerned. So..."  
  
"So...that means I have to get him transferred to a VA hospital and hope that he can adjust."  
  
"Well, you have some time. The discharge won't go into effect until the end of the month."  
  
"That's great, Major. That's just great. You know as well as I do how hard it is to find an opening at the VA. Especially for someone like Kyle."  
  
Major Shows frowned, settling his hat carefully on his balding head. He sighed. "Tell you what, Doc. I'll hold off on my recommendation until the end of the month. If he shows any significant progress - and I mean, progress - toward at least being able to take care of himself, I'll try to postpone the discharge until you can find a spot for him. Maybe a halfway house. But that's the best I can do."  
  
Roy glared at the door as it closed behind the major. He had to come today, of all days. That damn orderly, Willoughby, knew better than to grab Kyle. He moved slowly, but he did as he was told eventually. Damn impatience. And Kyle paid for it. Well, Willoughby would have that broken nose to help him remember...  
  
Roy tossed his pen across the room. He'd have to talk to Kyle. He wouldn't answer, but he listened.  
  
And the man wasn't dumb.  
  
**March 13 1975 - 4 Years, 1 Month, 11 Days**  
  
"You look a little down today, Captain."  
  
Murdock softly chewed on his lip, looking at the bottom of the doctor's desk. New guy, but he seemed okay. Another one of those "don't-answer-without-asking" types, but he was used to that.  
  
"Captain?"  
  
"Yeah, well, I got some bad news."  
  
"Bad news?"  
  
Murdock looked up, head tilted, eyebrow raised. "Yeah, that's what I said."  
  
Richter just waited.  
  
"A friend of mine has cancer. And my...uncle isn't taking it too well."  
  
"Is your uncle taking it worse, or better, than you are?"  
  
"He's like family, okay? He was...he is...he is family. Practically the only family either of us have. Han...my uncle is worrying, a lot. And he's mad. 'Cause he's the kind of guy that wants to do something. About everything. And he...can't."  
  
"The prognosis isn't good."  
  
"No. Well...that's the hard part. They're gonna start chemo, and radiation, too. So it's not like he's gonna die. At least, not right away. But they don't know."  
  
"And so you don't know how to deal with it. You want to be there for him, but you need to mourn, and all at the same time, you want to run from it all."  
  
Murdock stared at him. "Yeah. Exactly."  
  
Richter leaned back in his chair, staring back at Murdock. "You don't want to do this again, do you? Either of you."  
  
"Again? What do you mean?"  
  
"Your lieutenant."  
  
Murdock shifted angrily in his seat. "That was different."  
  
"Yes, but also the same. You're going to lose another friend. And this time, instead of torturing yourself because you weren't there for him, you have to live through his dying, day after day after day. You need someone to lean on, and instead, others need to lean on you. You don't want that, and yet you want to be there for your uncle, for your friend, because you don't want him to die alone like..."  
  
"That's enough, Doc. Okay? Enough."  
  
Richter watched as Murdock physically forced himself to stop shaking, tempered his breathing. He nodded slowly.  
  
"Okay, Murdock. Enough. For today."  
  
**April 21 1975 - 4 Years, 2 Months, 19 Days**  
  
Roy set the phone down very carefully. He felt, for a moment, what Kyle must have been feeling for so long. Frustration, anger. Helplessness against the stupid, idiotic crap the world handed out.  
  
The phone slammed into the wall.  
  
Let them take it out of his pay.  
  
*****  
  
Face paid little attention to the twittering voice beside him. He looked around the room. Small, with four beds. Two men sat facing each other on the far beds, playing cards. There was one window in the middle of the wall. He could see the brick building across the alley through it.  
  
"Okay, Kyle, I'll let you get settled, then. Lunch is right at noon. I see you don't eat meat; I'll see what we can round up for you today, and then we'll have to see about getting you back on track there. All right then, see you downstairs in a bit."  
  
The woman practically bounced out of the room, and Face looked more closely at the card players. Charlie and Dean, the woman had said. They paid no attention to him. He moved toward the bed in the corner, noticing Kyle's name on a cardboard sign above it. Block letters written in black marker.  
  
He sat on the bed, placing the small duffel with his belongings on the floor next to it. Looked up at the low ceiling.  
  
Twenty minutes later, the cheerful little woman came up the stairs, looking for him.  
  
Then she called Dr Cleary._  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**August 20 1975 - 4 Years, 6 Months, 18 Days**  
  
He sat nervously, watching some kind of granary. He didn't think anyone would spot the car, and most likely they wouldn't pay attention if they did. He kept telling himself that.  
  
He wondered why he was doing this. If he had any brains, he would've taken this car as far away from here as he could and dumped it. Especially this car.  
  
He hadn't intended to stop here at all. He'd been offered a ride on the back of a flatbed truck several miles from here, and this was just where he'd been dropped off. Where he was going depended only on what road he ended up on, who else happened to offer a ride and where they were going.  
  
He'd kept his head down as he walked down the street, knowing, and ignoring, the looks he got. He didn't like those looks, didn't like people staring at him like they knew what he was, where he'd been. What had happened. So he brushed off the looks and ignored the people. They didn't exist any more than he did.  
  
A nobody passing through a town of nobodies.  
  
It had been that cafe that was his undoing. He'd almost walked past it, a farm town version of a drive up, but he hadn't eaten since...well, a while. He pulled the change out of his pocket, counting carefully. That doctor, Cleary, had said something about him having money coming each month from the Army, but that was Kyle's, not his. He'd been given some 'spending money' before he left the hospital, and between that and stealing, he'd been able to manage. But looking at the lone dollar bill and the five quarters, he knew he'd have to move into the countryside soon. Back to...  
  
He shoved those thoughts aside, looked at the order window. He'd have to place his order. Talk to the waitress. The smell of cooking floated toward him; he could do it. He would do it. He had to clear his throat, and even then it came out a hoarse whisper. Another moment of panic when he saw the stove. Talk, if he had to. Eat cooked...flesh...no. Not yet.  
  
He noted her reaction, the way she slid the raw burger across the counter toward him, like she thought he was vermin. He sat down on the curb, his back to the crowd, concentrated on the task at hand. A big pickup pulled beside him. He stiffened when the driver got out, stared down at him as he passed. Another ex-soldier, one who didn't necessarily want to be.  
  
One of the locals yelled out to the man. Called him Sarge.  
  
"That dude sittin on the curb over there...he outta your old outfit?"  
  
Sarge snorted. "Hell, that dude ain't never been in no outfit! Probably bought that coat at the Army surplus."  
  
He pretended not to hear. Wanted to tell them it was his by right. His. Even if it had Kyle's name on it. His. But he didn't.  
  
"Thought he mighta been one of the guys you trained, Sarge."  
  
"Well, if you got downwind of him, he'd probably smell more like a pig farmer! Whaddya think of that?"  
  
Let it pass; it was nothing he hadn't experienced before.  
  
A big white Caddy pulled up. A young woman got out, gave him a quick glance. Heard Sarge at the table behind him.  
  
"The bossman. Got Jenny with him, too, huh?"  
  
Figured. Small town, big Caddy. Big man. Big ego.  
  
He winced when the first plastic cup hit his back. At least it was empty. Task at hand. Eat slow. Make it last. Keep the hunger down a little longer. Then move on. That's what he should've done. Would've done, if it weren't for 'the bossman'.  
  
The man got out of the Caddy, stepped up next to him, wanting to know if Face had been in the service. Face ignored him. Ignore people, they go away. But he didn't. Stepped right in front of him, and just asked again. Face had felt the tension building inside. He'd known then what a mistake it had been, stopping here. Too many people, too many eyes. Expecting him to act like them.  
  
He wasn't like them. Never would be.  
  
So he'd done the only thing he could do. Got up and left. And that had been his second mistake. That guy was someone used to getting things done his way. Face had almost made it out of town when four of the cowboys from the cafe showed up. Drove past him on the bridge, and then walked back. He heard them coming. Took his hands out of his pockets.  
  
Ready.  
  
Sometimes it was only words. Maybe a push or a shove. That he could handle. Once they'd proved they were 'real men' and he wasn't, they'd leave him alone, let him move on.  
  
Not these guys. Flashed a picture at him, got loud. Then the big guy grabbed him.  
  
The two he left on the bridge wouldn't be coming after anyone for a while, and neither would the one in the river. The fourth one, the short whiny one, got away. And Face knew he had to make tracks, get away from that place.  
  
Harry'd taught him what happened when you made fools out of bullies.  
  
He'd gotten a couple miles when he heard the siren in the distance. He looked back, saw the sheriff's car, and made a beeline for the woods. When the sheriff pulled up he stopped, knelt down, and waited to see what would happen.  
  
The sheriff was older; young deputy. And they had the little guy from the bridge with them. That's when he heard the name. Bellows. Sending the sheriff to bring him in.  
  
He didn't respond to the bullhorn, even though the sheriff sounded...reasonable. But go up and tell his side of the story? He knew what would happen then. He moved further into the woods. Heard the deputy coming after him.  
  
He was up the tree in seconds. Trees, he had learned in Laos, were a place people seldom looked. Until it was too late. Like the deputy. One minute climbing through the brush, the next minute Face was behind him. Knocked the guy silly. Grabbed the shotgun, rammed the barrel between the tree limbs and put his full weight on it, bending the barrel. He left it hanging on a branch out of easy reach, and circled back toward the road. After the way that deputy had squealed, he knew the sheriff would be coming fast.  
  
The sheriff had left the keys in the cruiser. Face knew he should've kept going. But if this Bellows wanted him that badly, he wouldn't have gotten far. He'd have every cop in the area looking for him. Face didn't want that.  
  
Then he'd found the note on the dash, telling the sheriff where Face was to be brought.  
  
So now here he was, sitting in the sheriff's stolen car watching the granary, waiting for that big white Cadillac to leave. Finally, he saw Bellows come out, talk to a couple of those same men, and drive off. He waited only a moment, then followed.  
  
He parked the car a mile down the road from the big farmhouse Bellows went to. Waited until it was dark, then sneaked up quietly. He looked through one window, seeing a mantle full of trophies and pictures of a guy in uniform. An SF uniform.  
  
He moved to the next set of windows, saw Bellows eating dinner with a young woman and a small boy. No young man from the photos. He watched for another moment, remembering another family, in another house, in another country.  
  
He had his answer. Now Bellows would get his.  
  
**August 21 1975 - 4 Years, 6 Months, 19 Days**  
  
He woke up to the sound of voices. Straightening, he reached over and cautiously swung the hay door open. Bellows was just leaving in that white Cadillac. Face watched for only a moment, before quickly swinging the door closed again. He sat for a long time.  
  
He hadn't meant to be here, in the barn, when Bellows left. He'd intended to catch him as he came out the door, tell him he didn't know his son, and then get the hell out of here. But he had overslept. A hay bale was by no means soft, but it was warm in the cool nights, and the barn was secure without closing in on him. And yesterday...it had taken more out of him than he'd been willing to admit.  
  
So he sat, wondering what he should do next. He knew Bellows expected the sheriff - or one of the 'local militia', as that sheriff had called them - to find him. Until that happened, Face was not safe. So he had to talk to the man.  
  
Or maybe not.  
  
He could tell that woman. Jenny? Maybe his daughter, more likely the daughter-in-law. That didn't matter. She was here, and he had to leave soon. It wouldn't take that long for someone to spot that cruiser.  
  
He walked slowly up to the house, every nerve tensing. The door wasn't locked, and he stepped quietly into the kitchen. He could hear a piano playing in another room; he listened for a moment before moving toward the music.  
  
She had good instincts. It only took a moment for her to realize he was there. She turned with a quick hitch in her breath, then visibly calmed herself, although he could still see the anxiety in her eyes.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
He pointed to the picture on the wall, struggling a bit to get the words moving. "I didn't know your husband."  
  
There it was out, done. He could go now. He could just leave...  
  
"Can I get you something to drink?"  
  
That startled him. He nodded, slowly. She walked toward the kitchen and moving just as cautiously as she, he followed, not too close, but close enough. Just in case.  
  
She gave him a glass of ice cold water from the refrigerator, setting it on the counter and moving away. So. Maybe not that different from the others. He drank deeply, always appreciating fresh water, versus that from streams or rivers or puddles. The little things to be grateful for.  
  
He set the glass on the counter and was surprised to see she had taken out a huge loaf of home-baked bread, and now was taking out eggs and...sausage. He looked at her, starting to feel that cord in his stomach. She gave him a small smile.  
  
"I thought you might be hungry."  
  
He nodded, feeling like it was someone else standing there. He could smell that bread from where he stood. And as she started frying the eggs, it smelled so good. Maybe he could just push the sausage aside, just eat the eggs. And the bread. With butter on it. Real butter. He watched as she took the sausage out, put it in the pan. For a moment, his stomach lurched. He looked around the kitchen, trying to distract himself. Just a normal, everyday kitchen. There was no chance that sausage could be anything but sausage. Not here. Not when she knew he was watching her. Not when she had offered it, out of the blue. No one offered him anything, other than a ride in the back of their truck.  
  
He stepped back quickly as she moved toward the dining room with the plates. The dining room. He sat down awkwardly on the fancy chair as she backed away. She smiled at him again, that small, half-scared, half-friendly smile. He picked up the fork from the intricate lace tablecloth. Tablecloth. For a moment, he almost felt like bolting. He didn't belong here. He shouldn't be sitting here, a filthy, reeking bum. No wonder she backed off. He should just go. And then he looked at the plate, loaded with eggs, sausage, the fresh bread and butter...  
  
Tentatively, he took a bite of egg. Then another. He forgot everything then. Forgot about eating slow, forgot about the meat, forgot about the fancy surroundings, the woman standing by the door. This was real food, a lot of it, and his. He couldn't shovel it in fast enough.  
  
And then the phone rang.  
  
He stopped, the butter knife halfway to the bread, tensing. He listened only to the point where the woman said she hadn't seen anyone. He closed his eyes, let his breathing go back to normal, and looked at the bread in his hand. He would've hated to leave that.  
  
He'd was working his way more slowly through the slice when she came back into the room. The call had been to warn her about him. He wasn't surprised. Someone had seen the cruiser; she was a single woman on the farm near it. Figured they would warn her.  
  
Then she said some men were coming.  
  
That they were calling him 'dangerous'.  
  
That was all he heard. Dangerous around here meant shoot on sight. Time to leave. He stuffed the rest of the bread in his pocket, heading for the kitchen.  
  
She tried to stop him, telling him not to run, that she would talk to Bellows. That wouldn't matter. Instead of shooting, they'd throw him in jail, send him back to Mobile. Or someplace worse. He didn't care that they were hunters.  
  
He'd dealt with the best of them.  
  
He walked quickly down the sidewalk by the house, breaking into a trot as he hit the yard. He stopped and looked at her before disappearing behind the barn. Stepping through the narrow door, he slid silently to the front, watching.  
  
It only took a moment for that white Caddy to pull up, followed immediately by two pickups, full of men. All with shotguns. Bellows talked to the girl for a moment, then hollered for the others to start searching; Sarge and that skinny guy, 'Cece', headed for the barn.  
  
He looked around, and hurried over to a small flatbed trailer. Two dirtbikes stood on it. He smiled softly, remembering Fort Bragg and that sergeant. The two had never paid attention to rank and spent many a weekend riding around the base wilderness. He climbed up on the trailer, checking the bikes carefully.  
  
Heard those two knocking the bar off the barn door. He climbed up on the first bike, settling on the seat.  
  
The barn doors started swinging open. As soon as he had a clear view of the outside, he kick-started the bike and tore out, using the height of the trailer to fly past the two men. He heard shots behind him, and a lot of yelling.  
  
He tore down the long gravel drive, cutting the corner to avoid the sheriff, who was just then turning in to the farm. He took a quick glance back before roaring down the road.  
  
He could hear the sirens behind him almost immediately. He tore down the blacktop, pushing the speed, the wind tearing past him. He saw the cutback and slowed only enough to take the hairpin turn. He couldn't help himself then. He leaned forward, bouncing the forks and accelerating into a wheelie, grinning like a maniac.  
  
He slowed as he drove past a deep woods, and maneuvered the bike down through the ditch and into the trees, the sheriff and 'posse' close behind.  
  
Time to quit fooling around.  
  
He dropped the bike gently on its side and moved through the trees closer to the road. He could see the trucks lined up along the road. A lot of men, a lot of shotguns. He only half-listened as the sheriff called the posse together. He'd been in touch with the Army. Smart man. Thought that told him all he needed to know about 'Kyle'.  
  
He moved back into the trees and pulled out his knife, a nice one he'd taken from a guy near Hattiesburg. Another guy who thought he knew all about bums. He cut a long branch and pulled the fishing line from his pocket. A precious commodity, that. He'd almost gotten caught taking that from a boat along some river. He cut another smaller branch just as he heard someone coming through the woods behind him. He grabbed the thick vine around the tree, used it to help pull himself up. He only gave 'Sarge' a momentary glance from above. The man was lucky he wasn't Face's target.  
  
Letting the sergeant move past the tree, he looked out at the road. He had a good view from up here. The sheriff had stationed two men at either end of the road by the woods; the weasely one, Cece, was too far away, but the other one, a big slob of a man, was perfectly placed, lounging on the hood of the pickup.  
  
Easy.  
  
He placed the arrow against the fishing line, and slowly raised the bow, taking careful aim. It wouldn't go far, and wouldn't cause too much damage, but right now he was only after a diversion. He let the arrow fly.  
  
The yelling from his target as the arrow zipped into his thigh was enough to wake the dead. Cece raced over, firing the shotgun into the air. Face dropped lightly to the ground as he heard the men in the woods clambering for the road. He pulled the fishing line off the bow and ran for the dirtbike.  
  
He throttled up and raced through the trees and up the ditch. Flying through the air onto the road, he saw Cece take aim, firing wildly. Face turned and pointed at him, grinning when he saw the man drop down behind the truck.  
  
The grin stayed as he roared down the road, leaving the 'posse' in chaos.


	3. Chapter 3

**August 21 1975 - 4 Years, 6 Months, 19 Days**  
  
He drove through the gully and up on the dirt track between the fields, pulling up and hiding the bike in the trees. From there he could see the back of the Bellows' house. It looked quiet, and he was about to head down when he heard a car coming up the drive. He looked quickly, watching as the deputy pulled up by Jenny's car. He watched as they talked for a while, and then the deputy drove away. Face didn't know if the guy was checking up on her, or if they had something going. Somehow, he didn't think Jenny would have much in common with someone like that.  
  
He had another thought, but brushed that away. Quickly.  
  
As soon as the deputy was out of sight, he rode the dirtbike down into the yard, figuring she'd be angry that he'd taken it. Angry that he'd come back at all.  
  
Instead, she smiled at him.  
  
"Having fun?"  
  
He looked up at her. Being chased by a bunch of gun-toting hillbillies, fun? Remembering how he'd left them, though...  
  
She said something else, about the hurricane of '68. Trying to make conversation. He fiddled with the keys. He had to say something.  
  
"Nice machine."  
  
She told him she and her husband used to ride all the time. Gave her a sense of freedom.  
  
"You feel that way when you ride?"  
  
He looked up, over the hills and woods. Freedom?  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
She smiled at him again, and with a quick, "Wait here," she hurried into the house. He started to get nervous. Not that he thought she was calling the sheriff. Something else. This wasn't what he'd planned on. And when she came back out, dress replaced with jeans, he got even more nervous.  
  
And yet he went with her to the barn, unloaded the second machine, and followed, willingly, as she took him down to the ferry, the only means of reaching a small island her father-in-law owned. She said it was the perfect place for the bikes. And she could ride. Both rusty at first, it didn't take long before they were tearing through the woods, taking jumps, hairpin turns, and...laughing. He had no idea how long they rode, he only knew that too soon their tanks were nearly empty, and they were back on the ferry. He began hauling on the rope, dragging it across the river.  
  
She shook back her hair. "I didn't think I'd remember how to ride like that."  
  
"Once you've done something you like, you don't forget." It was getting easier and easier to talk to her. To Jenny.  
  
"Is it just as hard to forget the things you don't like?"  
  
He concentrated on the rope. How was he supposed to answer that? Hard didn't describe it. Impossible. Harry...Kyle...Hannibal. They were with him every minute of every day. No matter how hard he tried to put them away, hide from them...they were stronger.  
  
They'd always be stronger.  
  
"You don't talk much, do you?"  
  
"I lived in the jungle for eight months. I didn't talk to anybody...I liked it."  
  
She didn't take the hint. "Wouldn't it have been easier just to tell Mr Bellows you didn't know Jack?"  
  
"Maybe." Probably. But if he talked to Bellows, it wouldn't have ended with Jack. Bellows would've wanted to know what outfit Face was in, when, where had he been. Things Face did not want to talk about. Ever.  
  
She said Bellows was a nice man, just obsessed with finding his son. Started talking about her husband. Face didn't care about her husband. He wondered if Hannibal had tried to find him. Before telling everyone he was dead...  
  
"Why didn't you leave after you got away from those men on the bridge?"  
  
He straightened, looked at her. Why? He'd tried. He'd only stayed because he needed Bellows off his back. But why hadn't he left after he told her? Or after he left those goons in the woods? Why had he come back? He looked at her. He couldn't answer that.  
  
"Why didn't you turn me in?"  
  
Her turn not to answer. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, and didn't have a chance to think about it. There was the sound of a boat starting up, and they watched as the one they called Big Ben took off up river.  
  
They looked at each other. Trouble. Again.  
  
**August 22 1975 - 4 Years, 6 Months, 20 Days**  
  
He watched from the tree as Bellows said his goodbyes that morning and drove off. He waited a bit longer, until the school bus came and picked up the boy. He wasn't ready for that yet. He doubted the boy was, either. Once the bus was out of sight, he dropped out of the tree and headed for the back door. He stopped there. She had told him to come by for breakfast. All the same...  
  
He rapped, hesitantly, on the door. Waited until she told him to come in.  
  
"Since you when did you start knocking first?"  
  
"Since I started getting breakfast." She laughed. He hadn't meant to be funny.  
  
Now he was here, he again felt that discomfort, that feeling that he was trespassing, even when he was invited. He made a half-hearted attempt to at least straighten his hair, knowing it was useless.  
  
"Go on in and sit down."  
  
He'd never seen a woman who smiled as much as Jenny did. Not one that wasn't paid to, anyway. Even Dao Quy...  
  
He stopped there. One of those places he wouldn't go anymore.  
  
Jenny kept herself busy around the house while he ate. His thoughts were on that guy from yesterday. Ben. There should've been some fallout from that by now. But Jenny hadn't said anything about the sheriff - or that deputy - coming around again, or calling her, asking questions. He didn't like that. He never liked it when things got quiet when all hell should be breaking loose. Always meant trouble.  
  
Always.  
  
He was just finishing the coffee - Jenny made very good coffee - when she came in with a basket of laundry. She tried to be subtle, polite, offering to wash up his clothes. He could feel his face get hot. She had some 'spare clothes' he could wear, and a bath in the laundry room...  
  
He stepped into the bathroom. The clean clothes were already waiting on a hook behind the door. He looked around. It wasn't exactly tiny, but...he swallowed. He looked quickly at the door. A lock. But only on the inside. Okay. Inside was okay. He closed the door, turned the lock. Unlocked it. Locked it. Took a deep breath, looking around him again. The walls seemed close, but he didn't really feel like they were closing in. Not yet, anyway.  
  
He slowly took off the coat and dropped it on the floor. Next the boots, socks. He hesitated a moment, fingers on the shirt buttons. The shirt was like a second skin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken it off. No reason to. Until now. He methodically unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the floor on top of his coat.  
  
Reached for the button on his slacks. Came to a full stop. Looked again at the lock on the door. At the hospital, he had to take showers with the orderlies there. It was either that or have the door closed and he couldn't stand that. And he knew they watched. Just like the guards...  
  
He reached over, double-checked the lock again. He knew there was nobody else here. Not yet. What if someone came while he was...No, Jenny would warn him. This was safe.  
  
This was safe.  
  
The slacks joined the shirt and coat. He could feel Harry staring at him. Looked quickly around the room. Empty. He turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, pulling the curtain automatically. Instantly he whipped it back and leaned against the wall, shuddering.  
  
Stupid, stupid, stupid...  
  
It took several minutes before he could straighten up. Looked at the curtain, the room. Grabbed the shampoo and started scrubbing it into his hair. It was hard, because of the tangles, but he kept working it in, pulling when he had to. He scrubbed and rinsed several times before he felt it was actually clean.  
  
He took up the soap next, looked at the washcloth, then at the back scrubber. He grabbed the scrubber and started on his face. Scrubbing until it felt raw. Neck, shoulders. Felt that horseshoe-shaped scar on his shoulder, remembered how Harry had given it to him. His face in the dirt, Harry's hand on his back. A short knife, with a blunt edge. Harry, smiling that way he did. That sudden swirl of the knife, laying his shoulder open, Harry's hand pushing his head down into the dirt so the scream wouldn't carry. And then the blade drawn down his back, slowly, until it pressed against his balls, and Harry, laughing that soft laugh. And then he'd just gotten up. Walked away. Laughing out loud. One of the other guards had slapped a bandage over the gouge on his shoulder before he, too, had just walked away.  
  
Face shook himself, took a deep breath, forced his concentration on scrubbing again. Over his chest, where he knew the cigarette burns were almost invisible now. His sides, back. More gently there. The nerves still stung in some places. Then down his legs, ankles, feet, watching the dark water sluggishly swirling down the drain.  
  
He finished the rest of his shower quickly. Even his own hands made him feel queasy. He stood for a few minutes in the still hot torrent of water, just letting it run over him, before finally shutting it off.  
  
He dried off with a thick, soft towel. Wrapped it around his shoulders for a moment, savoring the softness, and the clean smell of it. Then he quickly wiped up the thankfully small pool of water on the floor. Next time he'd close the curtain. He would.  
  
If there were a next time.  
  
He looked to the sink. Smiled softly, shaking his head. A brand new razor, toothbrush and comb setting on the counter. It took some time, getting rid of the beard, combing through his hair, but he stood back from the mirror finally, looking critically at his reflection.  
  
At least he looked clean.  
  
Realizing how long he must have been in here, he quickly got dressed. Felt strange. Clean clothes. The shirt was soft, not like the shirts that came through the hospital laundry. Jeans, too. Without that disinfectant smell. He looked at the pile of clothes on the floor. Without that smell.  
  
He unlocked the door and stepped out. The laundry basket was right outside the door, and he threw his old clothes in, taking one last look at the bathroom. It didn't look quite so small, from the outside.  
  
He hesitated a moment before going toward the front room, where he could hear Jenny moving about. Wondering what else she had planned for her new 'project'.  
  
He stopped at the door. Jenny was struggling with a curtain tieback, and she stared up at him.  
  
"Oh, my gosh! I'll have to get used to you all over again!"  
  
Once again, Face chose diversion over directness. He pointed at the curtain, offering to help. He took the hammer and knelt at the window, and was about to nail the tieback in place when he saw something moving across the road.  
  
"Get away from the window!" He knew his voice came out harsh, but he concentrated on the figure by the tree outside. He stepped to the side, then moved to the other window. Seeing that was clear, he opened the gun cabinet, pulling a rifle. He heard Jenny's sharp breath. Still not as sure of him as she pretended. He took the scope off the rifle, moving back to the front window and using the scope to check out the intruder.  
  
He handed the scope to Jenny, who instantly recognized Cece.  
  
"I'll go outside. If he's got a gun, rap on the window."  
  
He moved out on the porch, casual. He felt relatively safe; he doubted if Cece or anyone else who might be out there would take a chance shooting at the house. And, like Jenny, he knew that there would be more, either now, or on their way. He also figured the sheriff wasn't involved this time. Not this way.  
  
He waited a minute or two, then just as casually moved back inside. Jenny was still watching through the scope.  
  
"He called someone on a radio."  
  
"Then we wait."  
  
He took the scope, watching Cece. Jenny, worried, headed out of the room and a moment later, he heard the piano. Louder, more strident than before. He smiled. Her way of dealing with the frustration.  
  
He turned back to the window, and within a short time, saw the line of trucks go past the farm, a sheriff's car in the lead. Had to be that deputy. He shook his head. About as subtle as a jackhammer, these guys. He had a pretty good idea where they would set up their trap, too. That trail out of the gully was a little too obvious. He should've thought of that before.  
  
Too late now.  
  
He walked in to where Jenny was still playing, a little softer now. He hated to interrupt her, but he had things to do.  
  
"They're here. I'm going to take a look around."  
  
"But what if they start shooting?"  
  
Face answered before thinking. "I could take a gun and start killing a lot of them." Then he saw the look on her face. Smiled, trying to reassure her. "I don't think I'll have to. Just keep them busy until Bellows gets back."  
  
He left the house, trotting toward the ravine. He took his time, making sure he was seen going down into the brush at the bottom. Then he crouched down, started scrambling along the bottom, toward the far end. They'd be expecting him to come straight out, and into their ambush. He had other ideas.  
  
The road was a long curve, and he came out at the far end of the trucks. He moved along the row, wanting to get to the deputy's car at the head of the line. That should have exactly what he needed.  
  
He opened the door carefully, and there it was. A box of shotgun shells on the seat. He took it out, carefully pulling the shells apart, pouring the gunpowder back into the box. All the time, watching the men on the other side, hiding behind trees, waiting for him. He didn't have much time.  
  
He reached in, pulled the hood release. It banged a bit, and that big guy turned, loudly telling the rest to quiet down. Face would've laughed under other circumstances. He felt under the hood, found the ignition wire, gave it a jerk and pulled the loose end over the hood. He poured some of the gunpowder on the ground under the car, a rock holding the wire in the middle of the pile. Slowly he crept back, shaking out the powder as he went. He kept moving from one vehicle to the next.  
  
When the powder ran out, he crawled under the car and cut the gas line, gasoline pouring out onto the road, following the slope to the next truck.  
  
He was ready.  
  
He sneaked up on a big red pickup. In one fast move, he opened the door, hopped in and started it up. With a squeal of tires, he backed it down the road, swinging it around and racing away.  
  
He heard the first explosion - the deputy's car. Then a series of them - if all had gone well, they'd gone from seven vehicles to two now. He grinned.  
  
Two he could handle.  
  
He powered down the road, grinning like a hyena. He hadn't felt like this in...Then he saw Cece, running up the road towards the truck. The spy...  
  
He revved the engine and headed straight for him. The twerp finally realized his mistake, took off running the other way. Face got right up next to him, reaching out, grabbing the back of his bib overalls and shoving with all his might. Cece went flying down into the ditch as Face started laughing.  
  
It had been a long time...  
  
He took a cutoff, knowing exactly where he was headed. The gravel pit he'd seen the other day, before he took the bike back to Jenny's. It was perfect. And he knew these yokels would be thinking the same thing.  
  
He swung the truck between the sheds and machinery, coming out behind one building, and cutting between the two pursuers. The yellow pickup, loaded down with men in the back, was right on his tail now.  
  
Right where he wanted them.  
  
He raced up a high hill of gravel, following the truck path, pouring on the speed, knowing the driver behind him would be determined to keep up. But Face had an empty jacked-up truck, not an older heap overflowing with people. He also knew when to turn, and slurred around the corner, laughing as the other truck kept right on going over the edge of the pile, bottoming out and throwing its load out and down the hill.  
  
One down. One to go.  
  
Luck - and the cloud of dust slowly filling the gravel pit - was on his side. Sarge couldn't see and rammed headlong into the foot of another hill of dirt. Face sat at the top of the hill, looking down at that Jimmy, just waiting for him. He gunned the engine, and raced down the hill, hitting the bump just ahead of it, shearing off the top just above the seats. He landed hard, pushing the top and grill of the Jimmy ahead of him as he roared off.  
  
He didn't know if that Jimmy was still drivable, but he was taking no chances. He headed for town, racing past the Bellows' house, honking at Jenny as she stood by the drive. Moments later he spotted the nearly demolished Jimmy, a speck in the rear-view mirror.  
  
He tore into town, letting the other drivers rabbit out of his way. Swung around a corner just as he spotted the sheriff across the street. Time to put an end to it now. He headed for the river, where he'd seen the bridge was out.  
  
He pushed the accelerator down. He had to keep these guys close enough to see where he was going, but not close enough to see what he was up to. He yanked part of the fishing rod off the rear window, wedging it between the seat and the accelerator. He drove through the barriers as he came up on the river, opening the door, and at the last minute, leaping from the truck. He landed hard, tumbling down the steep embankment, coming to a sudden stop just shy of hitting the water. He painfully climbed up into some weeds, just in time to see the truck make its descent into the river.  
  
He listened to the mix of gloating and moaning from the men as they ran up to the edge of the missing bridge. They were quite sure their troubles were over - until the sheriff came stalking up, hauling the deputy away to 'explain things'.  
  
Face waited until all but the hapless truck owner had left before he made his way along the river bank, headed back to the Bellows'.  
  
And Jenny.


	4. Chapter 4

**August 23 1975 - 4 Years, 6 Months, 21 Days**  
  
He knew something was wrong, just from the way she was walking. That odd combination of determination and bounce was gone. The energy was gone. That was the only reason he stepped forward then, instead of waiting for her son to get on the bus. He thought he was helping, thought she would know, when he offered to go with them to the fair. But from the look on her face, he knew he'd done something wrong. But then it was too late. He'd already promised the boy they would go, and then the bus came.  
  
Face stood back, looking away. He wasn't sure if they'd discovered he hadn't been in that truck yet or not, but there was no point advertising his presence. The bus pulled away, but Jenny stood there, not moving.  
  
"Jenny?"  
  
He could see the shudder from where he stood. Voice breaking, tears running down her face, she told him that the Army had made it official, that Jack was dead. Rambling on about Mr Bellows taking it so hard, wanting to tell Bobby himself, how she had known for a long time. Explaining while she fought to get control. Then, for just a moment, she looked at him, and he knew, despite her words, she wanted comfort, support. He couldn't move, and then she was gone, hurrying into the house.  
  
He didn't know what to think. How he should feel about it. She'd known her husband was dead. In her head. Then again, a lot of people knew Face was dead. Had she still held out hope? Deep inside?  
  
Then it hit him. Her husband was dead. Jenny was...free.  
  
And he had no idea what that meant for him. For them.  
  
*****  
  
Jenny was calm when he came into the kitchen, but her smile was tentative. He knew she would be occupied today, making arrangements, calling people. The usual rituals surrounding death, no matter how delayed. He felt awkward anyway. She looked at his clothes, dirty from yesterday's activities. He smiled, tentatively. Like hers. He was changing into his own now clean clothes when the first of what he knew would be many calls came. He quietly slipped out the door, promising to come back that night for the fair. Feeling stupid for having suggested it in the first place. Before he knew what was going on.  
  
He wandered away from the farm, being careful to stay out of sight. Not for his benefit. The last thing Jenny needed right now was more trouble from him. Because of him.  
  
He went to the island. When he wasn't with Jenny, this is where he went. He felt strangely at home here. No people. No buildings. No traffic. Like Laos. With notable exceptions.  
  
He thought about Jenny's husband. Jack. Even though she'd accepted it long ago, Jenny hadn't really moved on with her life, not completely. Still acted as though she had a husband, that she was still 'spoken for'. And after all these years Jack's father had still been looking for him.  
  
He couldn't help but let his thoughts shift to Hannibal. All those months in that camp Face had waited, staying strong because he knew that Hannibal was out there, looking for him. Knowing one day Hannibal would come blasting into that camp and take him home. And then Kyle had come and told him...  
  
They'd never even looked for him. And that's when everything had changed.  
  
Face looked around, taking deep breaths. There was no point in dwelling on that. It was always there anyway, hiding in the shadows; no point in dragging it out to glare at him. No point at all. He had more important things to worry about.  
  
He had to think. He hadn't been, the last few days. Hell, hadn't for a long, long time. Survival mode, that's all. But over these same few days...Jenny had treated him like a person. For the first time in years, he'd been a human being again. Not a prisoner, the quarry, a patient, or a bum. A human being. He hadn't been sure how to handle that. Now...  
  
He knew half the men in the county would be looking at her now. Pretty, young, the now widowed daughter-in-law to the big man of the county...she might as well have a target painted on her back. That wasn't hard to figure out. What he couldn't figure out was how he felt about that.  
  
He didn't even consider love when he thought about her. He couldn't think about her that way. That kind of feeling was still too far out of his orbit, maybe always would be...but he did care about her. She was...strong. Smart. But with a sense of humor. The way her eyes twinkled when she teased him. And she hadn't been afraid to tease him. Hadn't been afraid of him. Hadn't looked down on him...  
  
He liked her. And he didn't like the idea of some of those yokels laying their hands on her.  
  
Like that deputy.  
  
He knew one thing. She had given him so much in such a short time, now it was time to give back. He wasn't sure how, or if he would be able to give her anywhere near what she needed now, or deserved. Hell, he didn't know if he had anything to give.  
  
But he knew he was going to try.  
  
*****  
  
Face was starting to think he'd been more than just precipitous that morning. He had never gone to a county fair with a small boy before, and he found he was getting dizzy trying to keep track of where they were going next. He also hadn't thought about the number of people who actually went to these things. Touching was something he had yet to get used to, let alone like, and the fairgrounds were practically wall-to-wall people. He thought he'd been hiding it pretty well until Jenny abruptly decided the two of them would go on the Ferris wheel while Bobby was busy with the latest kiddie ride. Face wasn't all that excited about the ride itself - something about being up in the air with no means of escape - but at least he'd be away from the crowds for a few minutes. He definitely needed the breather from that.  
  
They had no sooner reached solid ground than Bobby was pulling Jenny toward the shooting gallery, eyes on the stuffed animals practically filling the booth. Face followed more slowly behind them.  
  
Jenny shot first. She wasn't bad; actually hitting what she aimed at. It just took her forever to aim. And she was unable to hit enough in the time given to collect a prize. She was in the middle of apologizing to Bobby when the boy turned to Face.  
  
"Kyle, you shoot now!"  
  
He looked at the prizes, one a huge teddy bear. To win that he had to hit ten targets before the board flipped. He looked skeptically at the barker.  
  
"That gun fire that fast?"  
  
"That's what they tell me." With a smirk, the barker handed the air rifle over the counter.  
  
Face took it and brought it up. He hadn't held any kind of gun for a long time, but it felt natural. And he wanted that bear. Not just for Bobby. He wanted to wipe the smirk off that barker's face.  
  
He squeezed off ten rapid shots. As the barker unhappily reached for the bear, Jenny grinned at him.  
  
"A man of many talents."  
  
He looked at her, wondering briefly if she understood exactly how he got that good. Or if it would matter. A discussion for another day. Maybe.  
  
It was getting late, and they stopped for a quick lunch before leaving. Another thing Face had completely forgotten about - money. Not much you could buy for a dollar and change. It was embarrassing when he was forced to make no protest when Jenny pulled out her billfold, but she didn't seem to think anything of it.  
  
They got their hot dogs and found a picnic table that didn't look too messy. Jenny was going to take Bobby to the bathroom, but she stopped and looked hesitantly at Face.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He frowned, puzzled. "What for?"  
  
"Making life nice again." She smiled, almost embarrassed, and headed off with Bobby.  
  
He stared after her. How did she always manage to blindside him? He'd been feeling that once again, she was taking care of his needs, and he'd been trying desperately to think how to stop that, how he could make things right for her...and she thought he already had.  
  
He would have a lot to think about tonight.  
  
He looked absently down at the hot dog. He hesitated a moment, consciously reminding himself that things had changed now. He took a deep breath, followed by a big bite. Relaxing, he settled back in the chair, his thoughts going again to Jenny.  
  
He was sipping at the cola when he felt the gun stuck in his back, the voice of the deputy hissing in his ear.  
  
"Make a move and I'll blow your guts out."  
  
The weasel appeared at his side, hiding what was obviously another gun in an empty popcorn bag. In less time than it took to drop the cup on the ground, his wrists were handcuffed behind his back. Cece came over to the other side, blocking as much of their actions as possible. The deputy, Dave, pulled Face to his feet, and he glared at Cece as he jumped back. There was no mistaking Face's intentions toward that little bastard.  
  
They walked quickly, but casually to the parking lot, and Face was shoved in the back seat of a station wagon. Dave got in on the other side, and Cece drove out of the lot. A few blocks later, Dave sidled up next to Face, pushing the barrel of his gun under Face's chin.  
  
"Messing with Jenny Bellows got you in trouble, buddy. There's plenty of fellas in this county been wanting a shot at her, and now that Jack's dead, one of us is gonna get it. But not you. 'Cause you ain't gonna be here."  
  
Face turned and looked Dave right in the eye, never saying a word. But in his head, Dave ceased to exist. This was the enemy. This was the man who would hound Jenny until she gave in. This was the man who had no love for Jenny, only greed. This was the man who would kill him, because Face would protect Jenny from him and anyone else like him. This was the enemy, and the only thing he saw now were Harry's eyes - and this time, he saw the fear behind them.  
  
They pulled up to the granary, and Cece ran up and banged on the door. Homer, the one Face had shot with the arrow, came grumbling out. He didn't recognize Face at first, not until Dave sarcastically introduced him as "Robin Hood". When Homer shoved the shotgun through the open window, he was sure he'd have his head blown off right then and there. But Dave had something else in mind.  
  
He was yanked out of the car and pushed along into the granary. They walked down a narrow hall to an elevator of some kind, like a vertical conveyer belt. Cece went up first, and then Face was handcuffed to one of the handholds. He looked up as it started moving. A narrow tunnel, barely big enough for one man. Dark, so he couldn't really see the sides.  
  
A tunnel like he'd seen before. Crawled and scrambled through until he could see the moon.  
  
But there was no moon at the top of this tunnel.  
  
The elevator moved up, slowly, steadily. Seven floors. To a storeroom. Hands once more cuffed behind him, Face was shoved into a chain-link enclosure. He kept his face wooden, emotionless. He wouldn't let these bastards know what he was feeling.  
  
"Well, I hear you escaped two times. Hell, this oughta be a piece of cake for you." Dave's voice was heavy with victory. "Well, you get the urge, go ahead. Give it a try."  
  
The three men chuckled as Homer padlocked the gate. Face turned to watch, quickly turning back when Homer looked up and smirked at him. He listened as the elevator slowly trundled back down, carrying his captors.  
  
He was alone. He looked slowly at the metal fence surrounding him. Maybe eight feet square. About the size of their 'cell' in the cave. Above him, a single bright light hung from the ceiling. Just like the embassy storeroom.  
  
He could feel it building. All his anger from earlier started seeping away, suffocated. He stared up at the light, not seeing it, hearing a voice, off in the distance, getting closer, closer every second. A familiar voice. Jeering. Angry.  
  
Harry's voice.  
  
Harry's face.  
  
Looking down at him.  
  
*****  
  
At night, during the dry season, he could sometimes see the moon above him. Through the bamboo. He would watch for the moon, wanting its light. If the moon was out, it was easier to see if the snakes were coming.  
  
Sometimes, he would fall asleep before they came. He would wake up, feel them coming down into the pit. Seeking his body heat. Feel them slide over him until they found the warmest spot to sleep. He would lie very, very still.  
  
It became second nature to lie very, very still. Not to move. No matter where they crawled, no matter how much they hissed.  
  
If you didn't move, they didn't strike.  
  
Sometimes he thought about moving. Thought about provoking them. So it would be over. But that would be a sin.  
  
Sometimes he hoped the guards would forget about the snakes when they came to get him up. Then it wouldn't be his fault if they struck. But the guards always remembered. Always were careful to check, so they wouldn't get bitten themselves.  
  
Most of the time, though, he was grateful for the snakes. Because Harry knew they were there. So if he kept still, he was safe from the snakes, and he was safe from Harry.  
  
But there were nights Harry didn't care. He would make enough noise to wake the snakes. Face would hear them hissing, angrily. Feel them moving sluggishly at first, then suddenly they would raise up, wrap around the bamboo, and slither out. And then the bamboo would be lifted away. Face would close his eyes, and pretend not to feel the fingers grabbing his hair. Pretend not to feel the side of the pit dragging along his back as he struggled to get his balance and climb out before Harry lost his patience. Pretend not to feel...  
  
He remembered seeing the footprints, in the mud by the river. He had made his way along the bank. A few yards further down he'd seen them. Tracks, at the very edge of the water. The only place the ground was still soft. Boots. Harry and the others had gone this way.  
  
He looked around him once more.  
  
Totally alone.  
  
He turned, looking once more at the tracks, leading into the river.  
  
He slowly waded in after them. The current pushed against him, trying to knock him down, but he staggered on. He would not be left behind. He would not let them throw him away. He would find them, and make them see him, make them take him with them. He would do whatever they wanted him to. As long as he could go with them.  
  
He stumbled onto the far bank, falling on the rocks, cutting his hands, his knees. But he got up and searched for the footprints coming out of the water. Searched frantically until he found them, and then he followed them. He would follow them wherever they went. However long it took.  
  
But they knew he was following. They hid their trail. One minute it was there, the next it was gone, invisible on the rocks and gravel. He stared around the jungle. Tried to get his bearings. He knew he had to go back. Find Dimitri. Find Dimitri and it would be okay. They wouldn't leave a prisoner, not one as valuable as the Russian. They'd go back for Dimitri. And when they took Dimitri, they would have to take him, too. They had to.  
  
But he kept walking and walking, and nothing looked familiar. He couldn't find that cliff. He couldn't even find his own trail. And he couldn't find Dimitri, no matter how hard he tried.  
  
And finally, he fell to the ground, exhausted. He rolled over on his back, staring up at the canopy above him, crying like a child, a weak, simpering child, wondering why.  
  
Why Hannibal hadn't come back...


	5. Chapter 5

**August 24 1975 - 4 Years, 6 Months, 22 Days**  
  
He heard the voices, getting louder. Couldn't make out the words. Didn't matter. He knew the tone. Lots of voices. Sounded familiar. Not friends. Stay still. Stay very still.  
  
Then they wouldn't strike.  
  
Heard chains. Yanked to his feet, the cuffs removed.  
  
Stay still. Stay very still. Do what they say. Always do what they say. If he did what they said, it wasn't as bad.  
  
He felt the pokes, the pushes. Moving him out of the cage. Out into the room with the voices.  
  
American voices.  
  
Americans.  
  
He started focusing on them. More pushes, pokes.  
  
He was out of the cage.  
  
He was out. Focus. Come back...  
  
His hands were free.  
  
See the room. See the voices.  
  
Americans.  
  
He saw the swing coming from the side, ducked instinctively. Looked up at the man. He knew this man. Ben. Big Ben.  
  
Focus. All the way back now.  
  
All the way.  
  
Wide, hard swings. Face backed out of them. Ducked and turned. Ben fell against the wall. Getting angry.  
  
Good.  
  
Ben feinted with a left, came back with a right. Face ducked, swept under his outstretched arm, came back with two swift hard chops against the bull neck. Hurt him, didn't stop him. Didn't matter. Face felt a surge of energy, coming from deep down, somewhere. His mouth turned up, ever so slightly.  
  
Two more swings, Face grabbed him around the waist with one arm, swinging hard into his kidneys, once, twice, heard the grunts of pain, kept swinging until Ben slung him away. Ben tried to fake him out, telling him to hit harder, grimacing with pain.  
  
Two more swings. Getting too close to the crowd behind him. No room to move. Ben caught him, hard, in the stomach. He fell back against them, sliding to the floor.  
  
It took only seconds. Seconds to find the anger, let it come, let it out.  
  
He came up with a primal scream, knocking the man kneeling over him reeling, using the momentum to leap up, kicking another man, the man with a knife, splitting his face. And then Ben. A quick half step and Face's boot was slamming into Ben's nose and forehead, spinning him to the floor. Face ran, using Ben's body for a springboard, and leaped through the window.  
  
His body turned, ever so slowly, through the air, sailing downward toward the river. He tried to force his body around, trying to dive but taking the impact full-force on his shoulder and upper back. Brightly colored lights filled his vision, fading slowly to black.  
  
He inhaled water, and instinct took over. He fought to the surface, coughing and hacking. It took a moment for his brain to kick in, and he immediately dove under the water, heading for the dock beside the granary. He surfaced more slowly this time, ignoring the pain in his back. He would deal with that later; escape was the only priority now.  
  
Breathing hard, he looked up at the window he'd just jumped through. No one there. He looked at the dock, grabbed a length of hose and swam awkwardly under the tall pilings closer to the building. One end of the hose in his mouth, he waited until he heard some of the men climbing down the wooden ladder to the dock, then slowly sank under the surface, listening to the muffled sounds coming from the surface.  
  
He heard the voices fade away, heard the thudding as they climbed back up the ladder. Only then did he surface. He'd noticed several boats tied to the other side of the dock. His ticket out. To his island.  
  
He would face them on his turf now.  
  
He swam up to the closest boat, pulling his knife from his boot. He was lucky he was dealing with idiots in that respect. But stupid men with guns were more dangerous than smart ones. He carefully cut the rope mooring the boat, and pushed it away from the dock, and floated it down the river before climbing aboard. The motor didn't want to start at first, and he could hear other boats in the distance. One more jerk on the rope and the engine finally caught. He'd lost time, but once he got to the island, it wouldn't matter.  
  
It took only a couple of minutes before he heard them yelling behind him, shooting. He didn't think they had much chance of hitting him, but he increased his speed as much as he could, just the same. Then he noticed the box of half-empty beer bottles, rags, and gasoline can sitting in the bottom of the boat.  
  
Grinned.  
  
He pulled up next to the ferry, shoving the box of bottles, rags and gas tank up on the ferry before sending the boat on down the river, full throttle. He poured most of the gas over the ferry platform, then grabbed the box and ran up onto the island. He found his spot, a bluff looking over the river.  
  
Down on the boats coming toward the ferry.  
  
He checked his lighter. Good ol' Army issue. And yeah, Sarge - _that_ he got from Army surplus.  
  
The first boat appeared. He stood, lighting the rag stuffed into the beer bottle, filled with gasoline. He gauged the distance and threw. It landed perfectly, right in the middle of the boat filled with men. A sudden flash of flame, men leaping into the river, the explosion as the gas tank caught. The second boat was coming too fast to turn; he tossed the next bottle, catching the front of the boat this time. A second, very satisfactory explosion. He stood for a moment, smiling slyly.  
  
He watched as the men swam toward shore, taking shelter behind the boulders there. Running his tongue over his lower lip, he smiled as he lit a third rag, and threw it with all his might toward the ferry. It landed with a crash, immediately igniting the gas spilled over the surface.  
  
And then the gas tank, left half-full on the deck, exploded. The ferry blasted into the air, debris flying over the river.  
  
Face stood on the bluff, watching the flames, grinning, practically laughing out loud.  
  
Come into my parlor...  
  
He disappeared from the bluff, allowing the soaking men to climb out of the river, up the bank. He knew where they would go - an old surveyor's shelter at the top of the first hill. He knew it well.  
  
He watched as the men staggered past him, never realizing he was within arm's reach as they hurried up the path. Two of the pack were missing yet. He had time, then, before Dave and the one they called Bubba showed up.  
  
And then Dave would see what 'a piece of cake' really tasted like.  
  
He moved quickly back to the river. Gathered the rich mud from the water's edge, smearing it over his face, chest, and hair. Remembered the rice paddy. How he'd been seen...not this time. They'd never know he was coming. Or from where. He hadn't survived that long in the jungle without knowing a few things, learning a few more. He moved back up the hill, to keep an eye on his guests.  
  
He heard the boat at the same time they did. Cece started down the path. Face picked up a rock. A big one. It hit Cece squarely in the middle of the back, knocking him flat. Heard Sarge say, "He wants us to stay put."  
  
You're learning, Sarge. You're learning.  
  
He had started back, paralleling the path toward the river when Cece started babbling, yelling about how the Commies had gotten to Kyle, had worked on his mind. Face stopped, looked back where Cece's voice was still screeching.  
  
Worked on his mind? Face grinned viciously. You don't know the half of it.  
  
He passed Dave partway up the hill. Running. He almost took him out right then and there. Knew better. Never get involved with somebody who had a pack waiting.  
  
Take on the pack instead.  
  
He heard the gunshot from above just as he came in sight of the shore. Ignored it. Maybe somebody had put Cece out of his misery. Didn't matter. He looked down at Bubba, standing guard by the boat. Bubba saw him at the same time, got a couple quick shots out of his pistol as Face flew off the bluff, landing on top of him. He crouched over him, saw the fear.  
  
He wasn't worth it.  
  
Face pointed to the river. One word.  
  
"Swim!"  
  
Face followed him to the river's edge, making sure he was well on his way across the river, before turning to the boat. His first plan had been to set it adrift, leaving the men without an easy escape. He didn't want it easy.  
  
Then he saw the box of dynamite. He wasn't sure what Dave had planned for that, but Face had his own ideas. He grabbed the box, shoved the boat out into the river, and hurried back up the hill, into the woods.  
  
He found a spot close to the bluff, hidden beneath the branches of a large bush, and started inserting the fuses. When he had a dozen or more ready to go, he stuffed them in his waistband and moved through the woods. Those gunshots would've alerted Dave and the others; they would be down by the shore now.  
  
Now he'd teach the hunters a lesson. About real hunting.  
  
They were standing on the bluff, hollering at Bubba to go get help. Cece turned, saw Face through the branches. Started yelling. By the time Dave took aim, Face was gone. Poked his head up on the other side, catching Sarge's eye. He fired fast, not fast enough.  
  
Face lit the first stick, tossed it behind the group. Moved. Tossed the next. Moved. They were so busy running from the blasts, they didn't have time to look for him, see where the next one was coming from.  
  
Throw. Move. Throw. Move. Sending them scurrying in one direction, then another. Back and forth.  
  
He remembered then. The rocks. The rope.  
  
He stopped throwing the dynamite. Waited.  
  
"All right, you win! You win!" Dave was waving his hands, trying to clear the smoke and dust away. "What do you want?"  
  
"Throw the guns in the river!"  
  
He watched through narrowed eyes as Sarge and the others threw their shotguns frantically into the water. All except Dave.  
  
Dave saw him. Thought he did. Came up the path, bringing up his rifle.  
  
Face threw the next stick. It exploded in front of Dave, knocking him back several feet. Face didn't know at first if he killed him or not, not until he started moving again. Sarge ran up, threw Dave's rifle into the river.  
  
"Have some mercy, you!"  
  
Mercy? The fury in him spilled over.  
  
"Get off my island!"  
  
"We gotta wait for the boat..."  
  
"No boat! Swim!"  
  
He crossed through the woods, coming to stand on the edge of the cliff above the shore, watching as they tore off their boots and clothes before getting into the water. Dave looked up at him, pointed.  
  
"You better get out of this county..."  
  
Face cooly lit a stick of dynamite. Stood there, holding it while the fuse smoldered. One look and the gaggle of men raced into the water. Once they were all in, swimming for their lives, he calmly pulled the fuse, tossing it and the dynamite to the ground.  
  
He ran down the bank, up onto a log and dove far out into the river. He swam for some time under the cold water, letting it wash away the mud and the sweat before he surfaced near the shore. He swept the hair out of his eyes, looking quickly to see where the fleeing men were.  
  
And then he saw her. Standing on the opposite bank. The sheriff was there, too, and Mr Bellows. She was watching him. He smiled, raised his hand just above the water.  
  
Waited.  
  
He could hear her soft laugh across the river as she returned his salute. He nodded slowly, and climbed out of the water, taking one last look at her before he disappeared again into the woods.  
  
On his island.  
  
*****  
  
It was getting dark, the sun's glow moving beyond the horizon. The fire was crackling within the circle of rocks, just outside the surveyor's shelter. He stirred it slowly, watching the glowing cinders float up into the air, disappearing into black ash.  
  
Jenny had not come to the island, and he had not left it. He'd felt bad, after he turned his back on her, taken off into the jungle...  
  
He stirred the fire again. He'd felt bad, but he had to. Because it wasn't the jungle, but he'd felt like it was. It wasn't the war, either.  
  
But it felt like it.  
  
And he'd walked away, praying she didn't come, because he was still there, still...alive in it. Really alive.  
  
He'd walked across the island. Possibly every inch of it. Ignoring the branches that slapped his body, the roots that grabbed for his feet.  
  
An angry walk.  
  
He'd gone on instinct and training at first. Until he threw that first Molotov. Watched it sail through the air, explode. Seen the men leaping from the boat.  
  
He had the power then. And it made him feel giddy. Excited.  
  
He'd enjoyed it.  
  
He'd loved it.  
  
He'd started coming down when those guns had gone flying into the river. Until Dave...challenged him. Challenged his power. He didn't have to throw that dynamite so close. He could've tossed it off to the side, just a reminder.  
  
But he didn't.  
  
He'd let the anger flood him. Take over. Almost.  
  
And after they'd fled, and he'd seen Jenny, standing there...she'd come looking for him. And he'd been so grateful, and at the same time, so afraid she would turn away when she saw what he was, what he'd done.  
  
When he felt the anger turn on those feelings - how dare she make him feel like that? - he knew he had to get away from her. He still felt the power, the strength, and they didn't want to let go. There was no one left to fight. No one left to conquer. No one left to prove he was still a man. If she had been there...  
  
He wanted that feeling, that feeling of strength, and power. That...joy they brought. But not the overwhelming anger that always went with it. He wanted to feel like he had that day, with Jenny and the bikes, racing over the island...  
  
He wanted to be free.  
  
Finally free.


	6. Chapter 6

**August 25 1975 - 4 Years, 6 Months, 23 Days**  
  
Mr Bellows came into the kitchen, adjusting his tie. He was running late, very late, and Jenny had been watching out the window for some time. Kyle never came to the house while the white Caddy sat out in front. She turned, embarrassed, when Mr Bellows entered, and smiled as normally as she could.  
  
"Why don't you just go out and get that young man before he starves to death?"  
  
"I, uh, I..."  
  
"It's all right, Jenny. Tell him I don't bite. But I do have something to talk to him about."  
  
Jenny wasn't sure she could talk Kyle into the impromptu meeting, but she went outside and headed for the area he normally came through. Sure enough, he was standing by a tree, watching the house. He looked at her, then the car, with suspicion, which caught her off-guard.  
  
"My dad - Mr Bellows - wants to talk to you." She smiled, hoping it was encouraging. "I think I know what it's about, and it's good, really."  
  
He didn't look reassured, but nodded. She noticed he was walking rather stiffly today, and remembered that leap from yesterday. She'd have to tackle that issue after Mr B left.  
  
Mr Bellows was sitting at the dining room table with a cup of coffee, and motioned Kyle to another chair with a smile. He sat down, keeping the chair a little further from the table than necessary. To Jenny, he looked like he was prepared to bolt at the first opportunity.  
  
She sent Mr Bellows a warning glance before going back in the kitchen to fix breakfast. He just smiled at her and started talking about the "Big Battle", as everyone in town was calling it. Jenny knew he was going to tell Kyle he could stay on the island as long as he wanted to. They'd talked about it yesterday. She hadn't told her father-in-law that, while it was a nice gesture, she didn't think Kyle would worry about having permission to stay.  
  
She was happy to see that Kyle seemed to be more relaxed by the time she brought breakfast in. Still ill at ease, but less so. Unfortunately, they'd played out yesterday's events. Mr Bellows now wanted to know about Kyle. Politely, interspersed with stories of Mr Bellows' own military stint, but direct. What outfit had he been? What areas of Vietnam? What was his position? Kyle clearly did not want to answer, and didn't. But there was something else there, as well. The way he looked, not at Mr Bellows, but at her.  
  
Jenny did something then she'd never done before. She told her father-in-law it was time for him to leave for work - and she didn't make it a suggestion. He was clearly surprised; so surprised that he actually left. She walked him out to the car, as usual, and he told her to apologize to Kyle if he'd been too inquisitive.  
  
She would have, if Kyle had been there when she returned.  
  
She didn't see him the rest of the day, even though she went out to the island, looking for him. And he hadn't shown up the next day either. The third day he had come, but looking nearly as rough as he had that very first day.  
  
That would become the new pattern, though she didn't know it yet. Every few days he would just disappear. She never knew if he was on the island, or if he had just decided it was time to leave. Then he would show up at the back door, with that look on his face. As if he thought she wouldn't invite him in again. But she always did.  
  
She always would.  
  
**September 20 1975 - 4 years, 7 months, 18 days**  
  
"I really appreciate your coming to see me again, Father. I mean, it's not like I'm a member of the club."  
  
"You were his friend, Captain, so I think we can consider you a 'member', if only by proxy. And we are all His children, after all."  
  
"Mmm, sometimes I wonder..." Murdock blushed at O'Malley's frown. "Sorry. Just, some days..."  
  
"Remember the footprints, Captain. Always remember the footprints." O'Malley smiled gently. This wasn't the first time he'd come to visit, and every time started out the same. A little footwork, a little feinting, and then down to the nitty-gritty. O'Malley wasn't sure what the captain was looking for, but he always seemed calmer at the end of the visits.  
  
Today they were going through Templeton's school records. O'Malley didn't have room to keep everything for everyone, of course, but he always kept report cards and as many special mementos as he could. And whatever he brought to share with the captain was always received eagerly.  
  
Sometimes he thought a bit too eagerly.  
  
"Did, uh, did Face have any stuff left at the, uh, orphanage? I mean, other than what you kept?"  
  
"No, Templeton wasn't one for sentiment. Oh, when he was in high school, he kept things he thought he would need for college applications, that sort of thing. Always 'business', as he called it. I'm not sure what happened to the things he took with him after he joined the Army."  
  
Murdock nodded, as if that meshed with what he knew of the man, and picked through some more of this trip's folder. A few folders. That was all that was left of the first eighteen years of Face's life. He thought of the attic at his grandparents' home, filled with boxes of old toys, photo albums, scrapbooks, odds and ends of his own life.  
  
He was grateful that Father O'Malley would bring what he had for Murdock to look over. If only Murdock knew what it was he was looking for. He wasn't even sure why he was looking. After all this time...maybe because he wanted to know who this guy was who had considered him a friend. Or because he was finally starting to think clearly, or because he'd run out of diversions. Maybe because he was finally ready.  
  
He glanced through the handful of report cards.  
  
"What happened in seventh grade?"  
  
O'Malley blinked. Woolgathering again. "Seventh...?"  
  
"Yeah. The 'good conduct' grade - it went up to a B+. What happened? He didn't seem to be quite so...angelic before that."  
  
O'Malley smiled. "I'd like to believe it was my influence, but actually that was the year he read that book by Dale Carnegie. He was always very...determined. He decided he needed to change direction, and he found this book - I think he studied that more than his catechism." O'Malley shook his head, sadly.  
  
After O'Malley left, Murdock sat, staring through his window. He remembered reading that same book. Glancing through it, anyway. "How to Win Friends and Influence People". Murdock sighed, picking aimlessly at the splinter of the sill.  
  
He'd only gotten it half right...  
  
**December 17 1975 - 4 years, 10 months, 15 days**  
  
Jenny kept glancing at him as she drove; whether he was aware of it she didn't know. He kept his eyes on the dashboard. He hadn't said a word since they left the pier. She could understand that. It had been a mistake going there this morning.  
  
It had probably been a mistake going anywhere this morning.  
  
She should've known that when he didn't show up for breakfast. Their 'ritual', as he'd called it once, had gotten more and more sporadic over the last few weeks. She had taken a lot of the blame for that. She should've prepared both Kyle and Mr Bellows for that first meeting. She'd apologized to him for both Mr B and herself, and he seemed to dismiss it as nothing, but she wasn't sure he really had.  
  
Today he hadn't shown up, and she'd decided to try a new tack. Whatever he was doing on those "missing" days obviously wasn't good for him. He would be doing so well, coming out of his shell, smiling more, laughing even, and then suddenly, he just wasn't there. And when he did come back, it was almost like starting all over again. So this time she'd done something she hadn't for a long time - gone looking for him.  
  
She'd gone up to the shelter first. He'd actually put in a back wall, of sorts. But the two sides and front were still open. She could see the remains of a campfire, enclosed by a neatly arranged circle of stones. She knelt down and felt the ashes. Stone cold. She stood, pursing her lips and looking around the thick woods.  
  
"Kyle! I know you're out there. And I'm not leaving until you come and say good morning!" She waited. He knew her well enough to realize she meant what she said. She knew him pretty well, too. During these times, he got 'ideas'. Just like when he first showed up and wouldn't talk to Mr Bellows. When he was ready, when enough time had passed so she would know he was coming of his own choice, he would show up.  
  
Sure enough, almost ten full minutes later, he came wandering down the path to the shelter.  
  
He didn't look too bad. He hadn't shaved or combed his hair yet. His clothes were wrinkled, and looked damp, as if he'd been out in the woods all night. He probably had been; he looked tired and...unfocused.  
  
She really should've just brought him some breakfast, or something to cook over the fire. But she thought that by coming the first morning, she could nip whatever was coming in the bud. They had, on occasion, gone to the pier for a fresh fish breakfast. A treat, which they both seemed to enjoy. Granted, it was usually when he was in a much better mood, but she was getting tired of the ups and downs. She felt guilty thinking that, even if it was out of concern for him rather than selfishness.  
  
She'd talked him into going, and to comb his hair, straighten his clothes. He just looked at her when she mentioned shaving, so she dropped it. He hadn't looked angry; he hadn't had any expression at all. Just looked at her.  
  
But he'd followed her down to the ferry. The new ferry that Mr Bellows had made Dave, and Sarge and the others build. She remembered bringing lunch down to them in the boat, along with a picnic for her and Kyle. Trying to bridge both worlds, without much success.  
  
She sighed, looking over at him one more time. Lost in his own world again. She didn't know if she wanted to hug him or hit him sometimes. Whatever it took to keep him out of these...things.  
  
They'd gone to the pier, and the waitress, Nancy, came over, cheerful as ever. Nancy was one of those people who just liked people, no matter what they looked like or how they acted. Kyle even seemed at ease with her; that made two. They gave their order - or rather, Jenny ordered for them - and she started talking about the morning sun over the small bay. Many times just talking about inconsequential things would bring him around. It just took a little time.  
  
Today she didn't get that time. Two friends of hers came over to chat before they realized whom she was with. Most of the town accepted him now, but only because the Bellows' had. Everyone was polite but nervous. As if they expected him to start blowing things up at any second. Her two friends were no different - just less subtle about it. They said hello and then tried to ignore him. Except for obvious glances at him. Their conversation was overly bright and animated. A little too loud. And short. They left, practically at a run. Jenny looked over at him. He was staring at the table, face pale.  
  
"I'd like to leave now."  
  
That's all he'd said, but he was nervously picking at a loose bit of plastic on the table. She'd nodded. Her plan had failed. This time.  
  
But she wasn't about to give up. He was too good a person for that.  
  
**January 11 1976 - 4 Years, 11 Months, 9 Days**  
  
Hannibal sat uncomfortably in the chair, smiling the way he hoped a caring uncle would smile at his nephew's doctor. He was much more at home playing sea monsters than doting uncles, but the ruse had worked for a long time. Looking at Dr Richter today, he wasn't sure how much longer that would be the case.  
  
Dr Richter did not look happy. He never did when one of his patients went south when he should've gone north. And Hannibal wasn't much help, despite being Murdock's 'uncle'. Richter was probably starting to think intermittent memory loss was genetic, because there were a lot of gaps in Hannibal's knowledge of 'his' family. Or maybe Richter went along with the charade simply because 'Mr Bradley' was the only person who had any real influence on his patient.  
  
"We're having a bit of a problem with Captain Murdock. I thought we were making some progress with it, but..."  
  
Hannibal frowned. "What kind of problem, Doctor?" His tone clearly saying, "Now what?"  
  
"Over the past several months, he's been visited by a priest, a Father O'Malley. Do you know him?"  
  
Hannibal knew the name, but not from Murdock. From Peck's file. Skirt carefully now.  
  
"It doesn't ring a bell right off hand, but then, my memory..."  
  
"Right, right. Well, this priest apparently ran an orphanage that one of Murdock's friends grew up in. A friend from Vietnam, who died over there. The first time he came was just to give Murdock a few mementos."  
  
"The first time." Murdock hadn't mentioned him to Hannibal other than that one visit.  
  
"Yes. Murdock apparently asked him to stop by from time to time, to talk. Again, nothing wrong with that. Until a few months ago, when the priest started coming on a more regular basis. Always bringing something of this...Lieutenant Peck's. Photos, school records, anything he had.  
  
"Things started getting a little more serious. A couple weeks ago, Murdock started writing letters. To the Army, former colleagues from the airline he worked for, even the Pentagon."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Yes. Normally, we don't interfere with patients' correspondence, but, uh, we did in the case of the Pentagon letter. Only to see exactly what he was contacting them about - then we had no reason to withhold it. But this...obsession is something we need to address."  
  
Hannibal had a hard rock in the pit of his stomach. "And what are these letters about?"  
  
"He's requesting - well, demanding - any and all information on the lieutenant's death."  
  
Hannibal sighed. This was bad in so many ways. He looked up at Richter, who was watching him with concern.  
  
"Okay, Doc. I'll talk to him. See if I can find out what the hell is going on with him."  
  
**February 3 1976 - 5 Years**  
  
Face sat on the edge of the bluff, watching the ferry. It wasn't going anywhere, just sitting there, but he watched it anyway. He had a feeling, that tingling feeling running through his body. Like it was in Nam when they were moving into a hot area. When you could feel Charlie all around, but couldn't see him, couldn't hear him. You just knew he was there. Waiting.  
  
There were a lot of times like that. He would hear gunfire, off in the distance. Artillery. Or catch a muzzle flash out of the corner of his eye. Smell the dankness of the jungle, feel it closing in on him. Hear Harry's voice as he and the other guards sat around the fire. None of it really clear, or distinct. He couldn't say, yeah, it happened. It was just...there.  
  
The tingling got more intense whenever he was near the ferry. Some days he could put it aside for what it was. Other days, like today, he had to watch.  
  
He started tossing pebbles and sticks into the water below, watching the rings drift out, disappear into the current of the river. It was the boredom. He knew that. Over there, he'd dreamed of coming home, having a mundane little life, nothing more stressful than taking the car to the shop. And when he did get back, he couldn't handle a simple conversation.  
  
Now, even months after that fight, that battle, that war - he couldn't deal with the quiet. He wanted more of that fight. Wanted that energy, that danger, that thrill. Some days it was like a physical ache.  
  
On those days he stayed away from Jenny. He didn't trust himself not to pull some boneheaded stunt, hurt her in some way. So he'd hide out on the island, or take off. Hitch a ride someplace where they didn't know him. Find a bar, a back alley. Someplace he shouldn't go, and make his presence known. And after, the thrill of getting away, from the guys he fought with, from the police. The thrill of the chase.  
  
Knowing that getting caught meant getting locked up.  
  
Stupid.  
  
And then the fall. When the energy drained away. When it was all over, and he had to find some way home.  
  
Home.  
  
A piece of crap shack on an abandoned island by a town where no one wanted him.  
  
Except Jenny.  
  
He'd come back, because he had no other place to go, and feel ashamed of what he'd done. To himself, to her.  
  
And to make amends, to prove he was whatever she thought he was, he would try to get back to being what he was before. Try not to make her regret her friendship.  
  
Today, he didn't care about any of that. He'd seen the calendar in the kitchen yesterday, and it had suddenly hit him like a brick wall. So he stayed away, and let the tingling fill his body as he watched the ferry.  
  
Today, he was sure, they would come.  
  
*****  
  
The three men didn't usually go to the VA together, but today was a special occasion. Wiley had been discharged from the hospital a couple days ago, after his latest go-around with chemo, and he wanted to celebrate. Why this time, Hannibal didn't know, but Wiley wanted to and that was enough. He'd wangled an overnight pass for Murdock, and they were going out for a big dinner and whatever else happened along the way. Hannibal had a semi-foreboding picture of the celebrations they used to have after missions in Nam. It would be an interesting night.  
  
While BA waited in the van with Wiley, Hannibal walked up to Murdock's building and checked in with the front desk clerk. She frowned only slightly, but Hannibal picked up on it.  
  
"Something wrong?"  
  
"Captain Murdock has been...a bit down the last couple of days." She smiled her professional smile. "But I'm sure this outing will be good for him. He's just finishing with his class. If you'd like to wait in his room, it should only be a few minutes."  
  
He nodded and walked down the long hall. Murdock's door was closed, but unlocked, and Hannibal settled himself in the armchair Wiley had gotten for Murdock a couple months ago. He absently looked around the room, wondering what was going on with Murdock this time. He had talked to him last month about contacting all those people, and Murdock had promised to back off. Since then, he'd had more ups than downs, and Hannibal took some credit for that. Richter had been right to be concerned about that obsession thing. Hannibal wasn't sure he liked the fantasy world Murdock seemed to be building for himself in its place, but if it kept him from those dark days, and writing more of those ill-advised letters, Hannibal was willing to put up with it.  
  
He grinned. He wished BA felt the same way, but...  
  
His glance swept over the desk in the corner. Murdock had a conglomeration of items scattered across it, bits and pieces of model airplanes. Murdock never put together a model; he took pieces from several and cut and filed until he had a completely new airplane. Some even looked like they could fly.  
  
Along the wall beside the desk were pictures of the team. No Nam shots - even a crazy Murdock wasn't stupid. But lots of civilian style pictures.  
  
One of Face, in fatigues. Standing close, but not quite next to Murdock.  
  
And then he saw the calendar, tacked to the wall above the desk. A series of big circles around the date. Today's date. Hannibal smiled and stepped over. Murdock may have had his down time, but he was definitely looking forward to his 'over-nighter'.  
  
Hannibal's smile disappeared when he saw the notation within the circles. With very straight, meticulous strokes, Murdock had printed one word.  
  
"Face."


	7. Chapter 7

**April 07 1976 - 5 Years, 2 Months, 5 Days**  
  
He paced the floor, fingers playing absently with his lips. Every day he'd planned on this. And every day, he'd been unable to go through with it. Warring loyalties, ominous suspicions...damn his mind!  
  
He slumped to the floor under the window. He really had tried to do what Hannibal asked. He'd quit writing the letters, and he hadn't put up a fuss when Richter suggested Father O'Malley stop visiting for a while. He'd taken down all but the one picture of Face, although he had hidden the rest away where the snoops couldn't find them. He'd done, in fact, everything they had asked.  
  
But he couldn't stop thinking about him. Especially not after what Wiley had said that night. The night they'd gone out to celebrate.  
  
No one had even mentioned Face. Murdock couldn't believe no one else remembered, but he'd kept his mouth shut. Hannibal had been angry enough that night. He remembered coming into his room and finding him standing in front of the calendar. And he'd just looked at Murdock like...like it made him sick to. But he'd just grabbed Murdock's overnight bag and walked out.  
  
As the night wore on, Wiley was getting pretty tipsy. Well, they all were, except Murdock. They wouldn't let him drink anything but pop. But Wiley was getting pretty wound up, and who could blame him? He knew better than anyone that all that chemo was doing was postponing the inevitable. It was getting toward closing at the bar, and they'd started toasting things - people, holidays, non-holidays, anything they could think of, really. And finally, Wiley did it.  
  
He got real somber, real calm, and everyone thought he was going to say something about the cancer. He took them all by surprise.  
  
"And let us not forget our departed comrade in arms - Lieutenant Peck. The friend he should've been. May he rest in peace."  
  
That had been puzzling enough. But Murdock, seated next to Wiley, and sober, heard and remembered the near whisper after.  
  
"And may he one day let me rest as well."  
  
Murdock suddenly looked up at the clock. Damn. Another hour had gone by and he hadn't noticed it. He missed so much of the day any more. One minute it was eleven o'clock, the next minute it was two.  
  
And he still hadn't made the call.  
  
Nibbling his lip softly, he stood and went to the door, peeking out into the hall. Nobody paying attention to him. They were getting used to him, he supposed. Sometimes he was deliberately batty, just to entertain himself. Other times...maybe that's where the time went. Off into his psychoses with the rest of him.  
  
He took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall. He wandered down toward the phone bank, keeping a wary eye out for the nurses, orderlies...and in particular, Dr. Richter. Richter hadn't liked his investigations. Hadn't liked that at all. Kept saying it was just a diversion from the 'real problem'.  
  
He smiled innocently at any that passed by, looking at him with that now-what-are-you-up-to look. Luckily the phone bank was next to the door, so if anyone saw him there they would just think he was going out for a bit.  
  
Richter was partially right. Murdock himself didn't know what getting all the nasty details about Face would prove. It wouldn't change anything. But it was like, until he knew everything, until he could tell Face's 'story', he could never lay him to rest.  
  
He hung around the door for another few minutes, not only to alleviate any suspicions but to gather his courage. And go over his speech. He'd practiced it so often it should slide right out of his mouth. Should and would were typically two different things in his case, though.  
  
And, of course, as long he was involved with Face, he didn't have to think about Morrison. Morrison had started visiting again, glaring at him from the corner of his room. He'd learned from the last time, though. Knew how to hide from the colonel; it was really pretty easy. He just became somebody else for a while, until Morrison got tired of waiting for him to show up again.  
  
He slipped out of the hall and into the phone bank. It wasn't really a room, by itself; just the end of the hall where they'd put a partition in to give callers a little privacy. If he took the first phone, he would be completely hidden from view. And it shouldn't take long. Not long at all.  
  
He put in his coin, and listened for the dial tone, nervously peeking around the partition. He dialed quickly, waiting for it to be picked up, then waiting while the call was put through, again waiting for it to be answered. He heard the voice on the other end, and he forgot his well-rehearsed speech completely.  
  
"Father? This is Murdock. Listen, I need you to find out something for me...I know, I know. But this is really, really important. I need to know if they ever found Kyle Hanson."  
  
**May 22 1976 - 5 Years, 3 Months, 20 Days**  
  
He flopped down under the shelter, drained. Again. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been gone this time. The days kinda ran together after a while. If he wasn't careful. He hadn't been careful this time.  
  
He'd felt that buzzing in his body again. Spent a day just wandering around the island, getting more and more tense, more and more restless. He thought about going to the farm, getting the bike. But Jenny might be there, and she'd want to go along. He wouldn't have wanted that. He wasn't looking for that kind of sedate ride. He wanted to ride through hell.  
  
Finally, when the sun was almost straight above him, he took off. Pulled across the ferry, and headed for the highway a couple miles away. He knew no one around here would give him a lift. Just as well they didn't know when he was gone, anyway.  
  
Unfortunately, there was very little traffic on the highway. He tried to think what day it was. Sunday? Didn't matter. He kept walking. He kept his head down, trying not to look in the ditches, into the woods, across the fields. If he didn't look, he wouldn't see them. Wouldn't think he saw them. Sometimes he got confused about that. Couldn't really tell the difference between them being there and not. So he tried not to look at all.  
  
He'd hear them coming.  
  
By the time he'd walked the six miles to the next town, he was really wired. He'd tried to concentrate on his feet. Even counting his steps. But he couldn't keep that buzzing away, that feeling of being surrounded by...something. Making it hard to breathe. It was like being back in that hole. No room to move. No way of breaking free.  
  
Caged without a cage.  
  
He'd gone down a couple side streets. Deserted, or almost. If he saw someone coming, he detoured. Through a backyard, down an alley. Hid in a couple garages. Looking for something; he just didn't know what. Anything.  
  
Then he saw it. Providence again. Had to be.  
  
His Cadillac.  
  
Okay, he knew it couldn't be his. But it looked just like it. Maybe not the rust spots. And the color was different. Hardtop, not a convertible.  
  
But it was his now.  
  
He turned, walked down a block, slipped into a backyard. He pulled the cap out of his coat pocket. Spoils of war. He'd found it floating after the battle at the ferry. That battle...so many times he'd wished he'd just kept going. Never stopped in that place. That battle had done something. Something it shouldn't have. Opened the door he should've kept closed.  
  
He looked up the street. He didn't know why he was doing this. Trying to steal a car like that in the middle of the afternoon. Practically a one-way ticket to jail. But that's what made it worth doing. The 'practically'. The knowing that the only thing between him and jail would be his own decisions, his own skills, his own daring.  
  
He pulled the cap low over his forehead, slouched a bit, pulled the gloves on. Felt a twinge of guilt; Jenny had given him those for Christmas. Light, fitted gloves, just right for the cooler winter nights of Alabama. Hands in his pockets, he started walking up the street, watching for anyone coming out of a house, looking out a window. Picked up a small stone, tossing it casually as he walked. Amazing what a small stone could do to a car window. In the end, he was somewhat disappointed when the car was unlocked. Two seconds to hotwire it and he backed out of the driveway with a squeal of tires, ripping down the street, out of town, hitting the highway.  
  
Watching to see how long it took for the cops to show up.  
  
And they had. Not like big cities, where stolen cars were a casual thing. Here it was probably the event of the month. Maybe even the year.  
  
It had been something, all right. Leading those cops back and forth across the countryside. But in the end, it was the mundane that brought it to an end.  
  
He'd run out of gas.  
  
He gunned it the last mile, then ran it into a shallow ditch by a creek lined with trees and brush. He always kept an eye out for places like that. Places where he felt right at home. Where he knew how to hide, right in plain sight.  
  
He ditched the hat. It was the identifier. With the gloves and that hat, they'd never be able to prove he was the thief. As long as he didn't get caught here. When the moon came out, he'd slipped away, gone cross-country. Slept in a field the next day, and moved out again after the sun set.  
  
Old habits die hard.  
  
It had taken a few days to work his way back home. He wasn't sure exactly how long. But he was glad to be back. He was out of energy. The buzz was gone.  
  
The next morning he woke up, and he was still tired. Hungry. He wandered down to the farm, waiting until the big white Caddy drove away. Watched as Jenny looked over toward him, not seeing him, of course. Saw her sigh, and walk slowly back to the house.  
  
Ashamed, he walked slowly to the back door. Knocked lightly. And waited to see if she would let him back in.  
  
**July 15 1976 - 5 Years, 5 Months, 13 Days**  
  
"But I had to stop you. And the only way I could was to get him away from you. I didn't know..."  
  
Hannibal stepped away from the window, moving slowly to the foot of the bed. He felt the anger foaming inside, and forcibly held it in check. He had an idea what he was going to hear next, and he knew he didn't want to hear it. But Wiley was still his man, and it needed to be said.  
  
"What happened with Dimitri, Wiley?"  
  
"He did fall from that cliff. But Face didn't. He was down with Dimitri when I found them, but he was okay. Dimitri had broke both legs in the fall. Face wanted me to go get you guys, so we could bring Dimitri out of there. And I was going to. But then, on the way back to you, I knew...this was the make or break deal.  
  
"The...lie was out before I really thought about it. And then I...I couldn't take it back. I knew what you would do, Hannibal. No matter what Face had in mind, you would've backed him up, maybe even taken it one more step. That's what you guys did. Neither one of you knew how to say no."  
  
Hannibal opened his mouth to respond, but a look from BA stopped him. He nodded, instead. Wiley was using up all the strength he had to make this 'right'; arguing would only squander that, and in the end, be worthless anyway.  
  
"I know it was wrong, Hannibal, but I had to make a choice. And I chose the three of us instead of him. I've lived with that for a long time. I should've known better. I should've trusted you more. But, there were so many things going wrong, I...I just couldn't take the chance."  
  
Hannibal knew Wiley wanted, needed him to say he understood. Needed...absolution. Forgiveness. But Hannibal was filled with too many other things. Anger. Rage. Disbelief. Betrayal. He looked at the man in the bed, wasted away; the man he'd worried over, fought with, trusted with his life. Just as Face had trusted him. Just as Face had trusted Hannibal. He wanted to pound that man into the ground, and at the same time, he wanted to give him whatever he needed. The man he'd loved like a son was dying, for God's sake. And he'd just confessed to treachery of the lowest kind. He wanted to give him that forgiveness. He wanted to, so badly...  
  
But Hannibal was thinking back to a villa in Saigon and an overheard conversation.  
  
"I just kept thinking of him, out in that jungle. Alone."  
  
**July 17 1976 - 5 Years, 5 Months, 15 Days**  
  
BA was washing up the breakfast dishes in the small kitchenette. Slowly, methodically. The dishes were stacked neatly to one side. One by one, he ducked them into the hot soapy water, scrubbed it thoroughly with the dishrag, then rinsed it under the faucet before placing it in the rack. Then he picked up the next dish. He put all his concentration on his task.  
  
And then the dishes were washed, rinsed, dried and put away. And he stood in the kitchenette, just as methodically folding the dishtowel and placing it over the now empty dish rack to dry.  
  
And he had nothing left to do.  
  
He went into the small living room of the apartment he and Hannibal had shared the last couple of weeks. Heard Murdock in the shower. He'd been in there a long time. Normally BA would've hollered at him, but he was glad, today, that Murdock was taking his time. Glad for the pilot, because he didn't get a chance to take long showers at the VA. Glad for himself, because he needed time for himself.  
  
Hannibal had already left for the hospital, taking a cab. He hadn't said anything, but BA knew he wanted to be there, just in case. That was Hannibal, though. No matter how he felt about what his men had done, they were still his men. Something he kept saying about the whole outweighing the part. As long as they did their job, as long as they looked out for the team, he could forgive them anything.  
  
Almost anything.  
  
That's where they all were now. Wiley had been looking out for the team. But he'd betrayed one of them to do it. Betrayed him in a way that could only have had one outcome.  
  
Wiley had killed Face. Maybe not by his own hand, but...  
  
But he'd done it to save the rest of them. Done it for the good of the team. That's the way he'd seen it. He had no other choice.  
  
Only later, he'd realized what he'd done.  
  
BA wandered out to the small patio. It overlooked the pool at the apartment complex. Nobody out there yet this morning. Empty. A little breeze blew through the leaves of the potted plants.  
  
Quiet.  
  
Wiley was BA's best friend. Had been almost from the very start. There wasn't anything about BA that Wiley didn't know, and BA had thought he knew everything about Wiley. No, he did know everything. Maybe that's why he wasn't really surprised when Wiley told them. Angry, yes. Disappointed? More than anyone could imagine. But surprised? No. That was what Wiley would have done. The way he would have thought. It wouldn't have had anything to do with his liking or disliking Face. He'd told the whole truth there. But the way he saw Hannibal and Face, the combination...that had everything to do with it.  
  
He'd seen a threat to the team and acted on it. And because of that, BA had told him that he understood, that he forgave him.  
  
Because of that, BA had lied to his best friend.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal had arrived early that morning. Call it a sixth sense, intuition, gut instinct. He just felt he needed to be at the hospital. He'd left BA and Murdock back at the hotel. They were both having a hard time reconciling themselves to...everything; someone they considered a brother, dying, and at the same time, learning that he had betrayed one of them in the worst way...  
  
It didn't really matter now, whether they were here or not. They had all done what they could to let Wiley know they didn't blame him, truth or not. It was what you did with someone who'd saved your ass time after time. And yesterday, while they were all there for him, he'd slipped into a coma, a little more at peace.  
  
Hannibal pushed open the door to his room, heard that gentle swish over the noise of the activities in the hallway. Strange, how he could always hear that. He moved into the room, startled to see a nurse standing by the bed. She smiled softly and stepped over, taking him further from the bed.  
  
"I'm glad you're here, Mr Bradley. It won't be long now. I'm sorry."  
  
Hannibal nodded, returned the smile sadly and sat down beside the bed. He watched as the breathing got softer and softer, and thought about all the good things Wiley had done, and how Hannibal had relied on him for so many years.  
  
It could've been so different. Should have been. Hannibal hadn't done his job. He looked out for his men, in more ways than one, but he hadn't looked out for his team. Only cared about how they worked together out in the boonies. Hadn't seen, clearly, how it was once they were back at base. How important that was. Kept putting off those discussions, put off making them clear the air, ignored the sniping.  
  
Hannibal hadn't left Face back there. But he was just as guilty as Wiley.  
  
Whatever Wiley had done, it was for the good of the team. The team that Hannibal had taken for granted. He wouldn't think about Face now, or about all the questions left unanswered. Time enough for that later.  
  
One of his men was dying.  
  
That was all that mattered right now.  
  
**July 20 1976 - 5 Years, 5 Months, 18 Days**  
  
Murdock carefully straightened his tie, adjusted his cuffs under the jacket, balanced his hat just so. He looked in the mirror, stepping back to get as full a view as possible. Straightened his shoulders, got that soldierly sullenness on his face.  
  
Today he was a soldier again. Sane, somber, professional. He would not embarrass Hannibal with any outbursts. He would not disrupt with foolishness.  
  
Today he would say goodbye to a friend.  
  
Regardless of how much he hated him.  
  
He would have liked to talk to Richter about that. How one could hate and love the same person, at the same time. Maybe he could figure out a way to do it, without telling Richter who Wiley really was. To tell about Wiley was to admit who Hannibal was, and BA. It would be difficult, under those circumstances, to tell Richter why he hated Wiley. And he didn't for a moment believe Richter would accept the sudden appearance of a new person in Murdock's life. Someone who was that important to him. Someone Murdock hadn't thought to mention before this.  
  
He wouldn't be able to talk to Hannibal or BA. They weren't in any better shape than he was. They'd tried to talk it out, last night, but the words just kinda died. Hannibal had gone out, returning late that night. BA had gone out as well, taken the car to the car wash; so he said. Murdock knew it didn't take five hours to wash a car.  
  
Ray was coming for the funeral, but Hannibal had laid down the law on telling him anything about Wiley's confession. Not that anybody argued. Why ruin Ray's memories?  
  
Then, of course, there was the other thing. Murdock's own dirty little secret. Not Morrison. He would never, ever tell anyone about that. And that was purely out of selfishness. He needed the guys. He couldn't stand it if they walked out on him. He knew that.  
  
But he needed to tell them about Face. About the camp. About Kyle Hanson, and Mathew Arnhold, and Ben Green. There had been too many lies. Face could never be at peace until his team knew the whole truth.  
  
Never.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal had expected a small funeral. A very small funeral - the three of them plus Ray, pallbearers provided by the funeral home. But Ray had insisted on taking care of the arrangements, and Ray could do things Hannibal and the others couldn't. When the remaining team members arrived at the small church, they were amazed to see nearly two dozen veterans in dress uniform waiting for them. Wiley might be buried in an unmarked grave far from his home, but he would go out with full military honors. Hannibal was, if not glad, then at least satisfied with that, even if it was unofficially.  
  
Things were not so satisfactory afterwards. Ray joined them at the apartment, reminders that they were still wanted fugitives notwithstanding. By mutual consent, they hadn't told him about Face, and Hannibal had no intention of telling him at any time. He gave BA and Murdock a warning look. As Murdock called it, his Colonel Look.  
  
For a while, it worked. With a couple of beers, they were able to put aside the darker things and talk about 'the days' with fond remembrance, laughing and smiling. But it didn't take a genius to realize that any time Face was mentioned, there was a pause, or a frown, or a sudden stricken look, no matter how quickly covered up.  
  
"Uh, guys, I know you're thinking about Face. I have been, as well." Three startled men looked at him. "Well, I mean, that was such a...such a shitty way for it to happen. But you shouldn't feel guilty."  
  
"Guilty?"  
  
Ray looked over at Murdock, who looked sick.  
  
"Yeah, I mean, we could give Wiley a decent funeral, but, with Face...well, things were just too hot for you guys back then. But, well, like I said, I've been thinking about him. I talked to my preacher, and if you guys wanted to come back in a couple months, we could have a nice memorial service. Finally lay him to rest. It's over five years now; it's time."  
  
Hannibal looked uncomfortably at BA and Murdock, but nodded. "Yeah. You're right, Ray. Five years is long enough. Time to put it behind us."  
  
"Except for one thing." Murdock stared at the bottle of beer in his hands, a determined look on his face. "It hasn't been five years, guys."


	8. Chapter 8

**August 04 1976 - 5 Years, 6 Months, 2 Days**  
  
BA and Hannibal sat in the van. Across the street was the entrance to a rather elaborate Spanish-style building, one of many within the arbor-lined property. Hannibal checked the address on the paper he held in his hand. This wasn't exactly looking like his idea of an orphanage. He wasn't expecting an Oliver Twist thing, but...  
  
"So you going in or just gonna think your way over there?"  
  
With an irritated glance at him, Hannibal swung the door open and stepped out. One last look at the address and he practically marched across the street, across the parking lot, and up to the door. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to just walk in or not; he looked but couldn't see any kind of doorbell. Damn. He automatically sent an apology. Not the place for that.  
  
Taking the bull by the horns, he opened the door and walked in, finding himself, thankfully, in a large lobby of sorts. Two nuns, in full black habit, were talking by one of several doorways leading off into the wherever. Seeing him, the taller of the two came briskly over.  
  
Within just a few minutes, he found himself in a small office, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in front of a very large desk that took up most of the floor. No matter how he tried to sit, he didn't have quite enough room for all of him. He wondered if this is where the priest dealt with reluctant contributors.  
  
He looked around the office, noticing the strong smell of books and incense. Almost like the old library in his hometown, where the ancient librarian had smothered everyone with the scent of her jasmine perfume. Books, files, and religious knick-knacks filled the shelves and covered the top of the desk. Again, Hannibal felt his expectations betrayed. This seemed more the office of a scholar than a priest.  
  
He looked at his watch. He and BA had arrived early, checking out the place before stopping. Not a sign of anything military. Neither had thought there would be; Face was no longer of any interest to the military, and certainly they wouldn't expect any of the team to care about this place. And Hannibal wouldn't be here if it weren't for Murdock's...revelation after the funeral.  
  
If Hannibal had been angry at Wiley's admissions - and angry was a very soft term for his feelings - at least he'd had the solace of believing Face had died fighting, had died that day. Learning that he'd been captured by the PL, finally dying so close to freedom months later...He still couldn't remember leaving the apartment that day, driving to the first of what was apparently several bars. At some point, he knew he'd gone back to the cemetery. Ray had found him there. Said he'd been tearing apart the flowers left on the grave. 'Destroying' was the actual word he'd used.  
  
And, of course, Ray had found out then what really happened...  
  
So now Hannibal was here, waiting to meet with the man who'd raised his lieutenant. Whatever their individual reasons, Hannibal, BA, and Ray had agreed to help Murdock find out all they could about Face. Something Hannibal now wished they had worked harder at while he was still alive.  
  
They owed him that much.  
  
The door behind him opened suddenly and a sprightly, if somewhat harried priest came hustling in, apologizing profusely for his tardiness.  
  
"No need for apology, Father Magill."  
  
"O'Malley, Colonel, which I'm sure you already knew. But you had to be sure, didn't you? I'm sorry for asking to meet in person, but I've wanted to meet you for a long time." He smiled sadly. "I won't pretend to know what caused all of your troubles, but I know you must be innocent of those charges. Templeton would not have had anything to do with common criminals."  
  
Murdock's last words to him rang in his ears, along with a threatening look that Hannibal hadn't liked one bit.  
  
"O'Malley has some...ideas, Hannibal. Don't spoil them."  
  
He understood now what he'd meant.  
  
"Of course not, Father. He was a fine man. You did an excellent job."  
  
O'Malley waved off the compliment. "Along with two other priests and a dozen sisters who nearly ended up insane in the process," he laughed. "Templeton was...a handful."  
  
"Yeah, well, he kept me on my toes, that's for sure. But right now..."  
  
"Yes, yes, time is short. I'm afraid I don't have a lot to tell you. I did make the inquiries Captain Murdock had asked me to. The Army, of course, is not exactly forthcoming on personal information, but I was able to find out that Sergeant Arnhold had received his discharge, and a very nice clerk told me he's living in northern California. Captain Green is stationed at Fort Leavenworth - you may want to have someone else contact him." He smiled with just a hint of tartness. "As for Sergeant Hanson, I was grateful to learn he was rescued from his captors, in October of 1973. Unfortunately, that's all they would tell me. I have no idea what happened to him after that. They weren't even willing to tell me if he was still in the Army." Father O'Malley sighed. "I'm afraid that's it, Colonel. But I'm hoping it at least gives you someplace to start."  
  
"It does, Father. It's not much, but it's enough to get started. Now, I'd best be on my way..."  
  
"Would you like to see where Templeton grew up, before you go? It's just across the property a short way..."  
  
"This isn't the orphanage?"  
  
"Oh, heaven's no. The children would have this place in a shambles in no time."  
  
With a quick glance around the cluttered room, Hannibal wondered if anyone would notice, but tactfully said nothing.  
  
"This is our administrative area. I thought it might be...safer, for the children, you understand? In case the military followed you."  
  
Hannibal smiled. This guy wasn't a total innocent. "Good thinking, Father. And yes, I would like to see where...Templeton grew up."  
  
**September 13 1976 - 5 Years, 7 Months, 11 Days**  
  
Jenny sat at the piano. She'd been drifting over the keys, playing little bits of first this song, then another. She knew, just from the way he'd kept glancing at her at supper, that Mr B had something he wanted to talk to her about. Something he didn't want to discuss in front of Bobby. Now, long after her son was in bed, he still hadn't gotten to it. Kept clearing his throat, taking a breath - and then saying nothing. Finally she could take it no longer, although she had an idea what it was about.  
  
Who it was about.  
  
She turned on the piano bench, facing him. "Why don't you just say it, Dad, and we'll go from there?" Smiled, to soften the words.  
  
Mr Bellows coughed softly, uncomfortably, and shook his head.  
  
"I was talking to the sheriff today, Jenny. He's started getting some questions about Kyle, from other towns, a couple from other counties."  
  
"Questions?"  
  
"Seems there've been some...incidents. A lot of them, as a matter of fact. Fights. Car thefts. A house that got broken into."  
  
"What does that have to do with Kyle?"  
  
"Well, it seems he's been seen in the areas where these things happened. But the men involved in the fights won't say who the man was. They can't prove he was involved in those other things either, but..."  
  
"But he's different, so he must be guilty."  
  
"No, nobody's saying that. But you have to admit, Jenny, he's...well, he's not like other folks. And that difference seems to be getting bigger all the time. There are a lot of people saying he's...dangerous."  
  
"People like Dave and Cece?"  
  
"Other people, Jenny. Folks that have seen him prowling around the countryside, people that meet him in town. And you have to admit even you're careful about what you say to him, and how you say it."  
  
Jenny looked quickly at the sheet music on the piano, nervously straightening it. She'd always felt a little...cautious around him, but Mr Bellows was right. The last few weeks she'd noticed that Kyle seemed more volatile than before. Quicker to show that spark of anger.  
  
It scared her, sometimes.  
  
But she also saw the other side. The sweet smiles. The infrequent but wonderful laughter. That wry glance when something she said hit home, but not too hard. He had a lot of things to work through; this...phase was just one of them.  
  
Jenny straightened, realizing Mr B had still been talking.  
  
"I'm sorry, what was that?"  
  
"I said, maybe it's time to rethink some of the decisions we've made."  
  
"I don't understand..."  
  
Mr Bellows sighed. "I know I said he could stay on that island as long as he wanted, but now I'm wondering if that wasn't a disservice to him. I think maybe allowing him to hide away out there...well, maybe it's time we started encouraging him to get some help. Before things get too out of hand. I'm sure I could find a good doctor...maybe a hospital..."  
  
"He won't go. You know that."  
  
"Not willingly. But..." he actually squirmed in his seat, "there are ways to make him get help. If he is becoming dangerous..."  
  
"He's not dangerous, Dad. He only defends himself. If people would just leave him alone..."  
  
"I think that's part of the problem, Jenny. He wants people to leave him alone. Everyone...except you."  
  
"Is that what this is all about? Me?"  
  
"Jenny, I know you've wanted to help him since the day you met him. And I applaud that, I really do. But there's a point where...well, you have to be realistic. You've built a bridge to him, gained his trust, but now, well, just what the heck are you going to do with him? He's gotten way too...dependent on you. And I'm not sure you realize the implications of that yet." He sighed at the look on her face and put down the paper. "I'm sorry, honey. I guess that's enough talk for tonight. But you think about what I've said, and we'll talk again tomorrow."  
  
Face pulled back from the window as Mr Bellows left the room. He'd come to the house, needing to see Jenny, needing to talk, to be with her so the buzzing would stop. So he'd stop feeling that suffocating mist around him. If he could talk to her, before it got too bad, sometimes it would go away. And then he could feel...normal. Almost. He was going to wait until Bellows went to bed, and had watched from the window, as he had that first night so many months ago.  
  
He stepped quietly away from the house, heading at a trot out into the fields. They wanted to put him away again. Lock him up.  
  
He felt the buzzing getting stronger.  
  
He let it.  
  
**September 19 1976 - 5 Years, 7 Months, 17 Days**  
  
Ray looked around the motel room. It had been a long time since he'd been in one of these. Hourly rates. Vibrating bed. He hadn't even looked at the bathroom. A long time. He sighed, reminding himself that all he needed was a phone that he knew hadn't been bugged.  
  
He dialed the number and waited. He didn't like this, going through third parties, but so far it worked. As long as no one realized that John Smith's agent was really John "Hannibal" Smith's agent. He allowed himself a small grin. Colonel Smith, aka Kira-tori, monster extraordinaire. At least, that was the current role. Who knew what the next movie would conjure up?  
  
The secretary answered, and Ray left the number of the motel and room number, and the name they'd chosen for the occasion. Emphasizing that it was extremely important that Mr Smith get the message right away, family emergency, Ray hung up and waited.  
  
He wouldn't be telling Hannibal all of what he knew. Just the main facts. The rest he would be forwarding to whatever safe address Hannibal had at the moment. But Hannibal wanted a starting point. Typical. Get the salient information, start the job, deal with the details as they came. Sometimes got them in a hell of a bind, but always accomplished the mission.  
  
Eventually.  
  
He shook his head. He was glad, frankly, that he wouldn't have time to give Hannibal all the details. After talking to Arnhold, he'd felt...dirty. The guy did not want to talk about the camp, the escape. Most especially he didn't want to talk about Face. Ray had had to resort to emotional blackmail, bringing up Murdock. Playing on Arnhold's gratitude to the pilot who'd saved his life.  
  
But that wasn't nearly as bad as actually reading the report that Arnhold had sent him. Handwritten, barely legible at times, detailing everything. With the note at the bottom to please not contact him again. Ray didn't blame him.  
  
He wondered what Hannibal would think, feel, when he read the report. Found out the man everyone thought was so self-centered, looking out only for the old number one, had gone through all that hell to keep two other men safe, two men he barely knew. And in the end, was willing to stay behind to make sure they could make it.  
  
The fact that Kyle Hanson had lost his own bid for freedom because he wouldn't abandon Face only made Ray more determined to help Hannibal find him, and make sure he was thanked. Properly.  
  
Although, after talking to Ben Green, Ray wasn't sure if that was possible. Ray knew the PL were barbaric in their treatment of prisoners, but after hearing how Ben had described Kyle's condition that night, he could hardly believe it. When he described how the sergeant had reacted, trying to hide from Ben, being dragged away by the guards...Ray had a pretty good idea of where a man like that would end up.  
  
Hell, he could be right there at Westwood with Murdock for all they knew.  
  
The last bits of information had been the hardest to get, and Ray knew he would be unable to do more digging for Hannibal. He'd taken it as far as he could, and then the brass had started noticing. He'd been thinking of getting out of the Army for some time now, go back home and do something...sedate. His name being bandied about in certain circles made that even more appealing. And less a matter of choice.  
  
The phone rang, loudly, startling him out of his reverie. He grabbed it, hand actually shaking a bit.  
  
Yeah, it was time to get out. Before his own memories came back too strong.  
  
**September 23 1976 - 5 Years, 7 Months, 21 Days**  
  
"You want me to go?"  
  
She didn't want to say yes, but she didn't see any other way. She and Mr Bellows had actually argued about it. But he held the upper hand, and they both knew it. She had to convince Kyle to try this; the alternative was untenable. All it would take was one phone call from Mr B to an old friend, Judge Naismith, and Kyle would be taken away, for his own good. Nothing she said could convince her father-in-law that it would be the worst thing they could do. She didn't dare explain to Kyle. He would take off, and she'd never see him again. So she had no choice  
  
She looked at his somber face, the question in his eyes.  
  
"Yes," she said. "I think you should go..."

**September 25 1976 - 5 Years, 7 Months, 23 Days**  
  
"Hey, boy..."  
  
He jerked back to the real world. Heard the soft chuckle, and looked sheepishly over at the old man, Ralph.  
  
"S'okay, boy. Little woolgatherin never hurt nobody, 'slong as you ain't on that tractor." Ralph winked at him and handed him another sandwich.  
  
The sun was high overhead now, and they sat in the warm shade of the tractors, eating the lunch Ralph had packed that morning in the coolers. Face looked around as he slowly chewed on the sandwich. Of all the places he'd thought he could end up, driving a tractor harvesting peanuts was definitely not on the list. Amazingly, he found he liked it. Or maybe it was Ralph he liked; he found that just as strange.  
  
Mr Bellows had driven him to the cabin that first day. It was on the opposite end of the county, and Face figured that was a calculated decision. He'd ignored any attempts by the "Bossman" to make conversation. He knew who his enemies were. They'd pulled up in front of an old cabin, more of a shanty, and there was Ralph, sitting on the porch.  
  
Mr Bellows had gotten out of the pickup and waited until Face finally got out and came around the front. Then the two of them had walked up to the cabin, where Mr Bellows introduced Face as "the fella I told you about.". Ralph had just nodded and smiled at Face. Face wouldn't look at him. Looking at them made them angry. That much he knew. He didn't say anything either. He knew what happened if you talked, as well.  
  
And then Mr Bellows was gone, driving off in a cloud of dust. Ralph pointed to a couch on the porch, and Face sat on the edge. Waiting.  
  
Ralph didn't say anything for a long time. Looked at Face, with his head cocked, for a moment, then calmly pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. Took a couple puffs and casually offered the pack to Face. He looked at the pack but didn't move.  
  
"My arm ain't gonna hang up there all day, boy." Soft voice, with a smile in it.  
  
Face took the pack slowly and caught the book of matches deftly. For several minutes they sat and smoked in silence. Face found himself relaxing, little by little.  
  
Ralph tossed the butt on the ground and stood, stiffly. Stretched his back, then looked out over the fields, spat on the ground.  
  
"I was in the Big One, then Korea. In Korea, I was a guest of the Chinese." He looked soberly at Face. "So I know."  
  
He started walking toward a large shed some yards away, then turned and looked back at Face, who was staring at him from the porch. He chuckled. "Well, c'mon, boy. Ain't got all day to sit around listenin to your chatter."  
  
And so began Face's new job.  
  
*****  
  
"Excuse me, I wonder if you could help me."  
  
The corporal frowned up at the dark-haired man in the cheap business suit. He hated dealing with civilians and wondered what excuse this guy had given at the gate. Not that it mattered. He had to be polite, regardless.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"I'm trying to locate my son. I'm afraid I lost contact with him several years ago. I know he joined the Army, uh, the Green Berets, and..."  
  
"Army Special Forces are located at Fort Bragg, sir, in North Carolina."  
  
"I know that, son, but I'm out here. And I...well, I travel a lot, so it's kinda hard for me to give a permanent address for any letters. I'm only in LA for a couple of days. I just wondered if someone could contact them, maybe a phone call, and let me know where he is now. I would take it from there."  
  
"I'd like to help, sir, but..."  
  
"Look, I know this is an imposition, but, you see, I just have to know if he's...well, I know he went over there to Vietnam, and I just found out that he...well, that...he might not have...I..."  
  
The corporal immediately got the man a chair, noting the obvious tremor to his voice, and the sudden swaying. He understood now. Getting that kind of news would make anyone desperate to find out what had really happened, even if it was years too late.  
  
"Look, Mr..."  
  
"Hanson, Ronald Hanson."  
  
"Mr Hanson. I can't promise anything, but if you give me whatever information you have, I can see what I can come up with."  
  
"I'd appreciate that, son, more than you could know." Hannibal smiled broadly. "His name was Kyle Hanson, and he was a sergeant..."


	9. Chapter 9

**September 27 1976 - 5 Years, 7 Months, 25 Days**  
  
Ralph never asked questions. When Face stayed in the doorway of the cabin instead of coming inside for coffee, looking at the tiny room with two small windows, Ralph only nodded, as if to himself, and handed Face a cup where he stood. That first night, when Face sat again on the edge of the old couch on the porch, drumming his fingers lightly, quickly, on his knees, Ralph came out with a light blanket and a pillow, and said, "See you in the morning." And in the morning, Ralph came out with a basin of hot water, hung a small mirror on the post, and left a towel, a bar of soap and razor on the couch's arm. Breakfast was a picnic on the rickety table at the other end of the porch.  
  
Ralph was patient. He explained how to run the tractor and how to line up the digger with the rows. And then explained again, in the same even tone, when he realized Face had 'wandered'. Never raised his voice, never lost his temper. Just smiled, cocked an eyebrow, and made sure Face was back with him before he'd move on.  
  
Everything Ralph did - or maybe, didn't do - made Face try harder to stay on track. It was almost like with Jenny. No. No, different. He used Jenny, let her lead him out of those...things. And, whether she realized what she was doing or not, she liked to lead him out. She...felt sorry for him. Ralph didn't. Ralph didn't lead. He made Face feel like he could do it himself, maybe with just a little boost now and then. And Ralph would just be there, waiting for him.  
  
Yeah. Ralph would wait for him.  
  
"Hey, boy..."  
  
He looked up, startled. Embarrassed. Ralph smiled, shook his head.  
  
"Hard, ain't it? One little thought leads to another, then another. Next thing y'know, train's left the station and you ain't on it."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"No reason. You'll git there, 'ventually. That's all that counts, boy. That you git there."  
  
Face looked at him, and for the first time, in the eye. "Will I?"  
  
Ralph looked right back at him. "Yeah, boy, you will. When you ready, you will."  
  
Gathering his courage, Face had to ask. "How long did it..." He stopped, unsure now.  
  
Ralph sighed, leaned back against the tractor, fiddling with the distributor cap. "A long time. And some things...some things just can't be fixed. S'why I live out here, by myself."  
  
Face blushed. "I'm sorry. I..."  
  
"Hey, if I didn't want you here...'nuff said on that shit." He straightened then, set the distributor cap on the tractor seat. "How long you been here, boy?"  
  
Face had to stop and think a minute. "This is the third day. Three days."  
  
"God Almighty! Almost blew it. C'mon." Ralph started back toward the cabin. Face stared after him, confused. Ralph looked back, grinned. "Din't I tell you? On the third day, I rest. So we goin fishin."  
  
**September 28 1976 - 5 Years, 7 Months, 26 Days**  
  
"I don't like this, Hannibal."  
  
"You haven't liked any of it, BA. Why should this be different?"  
  
"It ain't that I don't like any of it, Hannibal. I just..." BA sighed. "He was my friend, y'know?"  
  
"Yeah, I know. I also know what he did. I don't care why. Not anymore. Not after reading that...report." He glared over at BA. "You might want to read it yourself, BA. See what your friend put another man through."  
  
BA gripped the steering wheel, and for a moment, Hannibal thought he'd gone too far.  
  
"I ain't about to excuse what he did. Only I'm sayin he was my friend, and yours, too, and he did what he thought was best. That's all."  
  
"Tell that to Face. Oh, that's right, you can't. He's dead."  
  
"So's Wiley, okay? Nothin we can do about either one."  
  
Hannibal's turn to sigh. Ripping each other to shreds wasn't going to accomplish anything, either, but it seemed like that's all they did anymore. It had to stop somewhere.  
  
"I'm sorry, BA. I guess we're all having problems with this whole thing. Maybe that's why I want to help Murdock. We find this Hanson, get his story, then we'll know all the facts, and we can just...put them both to rest. Move on."  
  
"You really think that'll happen? I mean, if this guy is like Murdock, or worse..."  
  
"We'll find out when we get there. Right now, I just want to find him. Maybe that'll be enough. Who knows? Maybe they'll have fixed him by now, and we'll find him selling insurance in some backwater town."  
  
"Yeah. And Murdock's fit to run for governor."  
  
"Speaking of whom, there he is now." Hannibal nodded across the street, where Murdock was sauntering along as if he hadn't a care in the world - except for the glances up and down the street. Hannibal wondered if anyone else noticed he'd suddenly gained a potbelly. Shaking his head, he looked at BA.  
  
"Let's go get him. Discreetly."  
  
BA nodded, and pulled slowly out onto the street, moving up to park just a few yards ahead of Murdock's path, leaving the engine running. Hannibal slipped into the back and slid the side door open.  
  
"Get ready."  
  
Murdock didn't look at them, merely nodded his head in an exaggerated fashion. Anyone watching would assume it was just another crazy, talking to himself. He came up parallel with the back end of the van, stopped, took a quick glance behind him and sprinted across the street and around the van. Immediately, there were shouts from the orderlies.  
  
"Go, BA!"  
  
Murdock flopped down in the back seat, pulling spare clothes out from under his T-shirt. BA tore down the street, hospital orderlies chasing after the van on foot. Hannibal grinned.  
  
"Guess your poor old uncle won't be visiting again, Murdock."  
  
Murdock grinned right back. "Poor man. Crazy really does run in the family, after all."  
  
BA just growled. "You both nuts, all right. And I'm crazy for going along with it."  
  
Murdock stuck out his tongue but immediately sobered, looking at Hannibal. "So we really are going to find him, right? You know where he is, right?"  
  
"I know where he was, Murdock. We're going to find out if he still is, and then you can talk to him."  
  
"What if he's gone?"  
  
Hannibal glanced at BA, who looked back, scowled, then nodded.  
  
"Then we find out where he went, and go there. I gave you my word we would do our best to find this guy, Murdock, and I meant it. I think we all need to talk to him. But then it's finished. Understood? We put the ghosts back in the past, where they belong."  
  
Murdock didn't say anything. He hadn't even thought about after. He only knew he had to find Kyle. The sudden incursion of "after" seemed somehow...unsettling.  
  
"Murdock?"  
  
"Yeah, Colonel. I know..."  
  
"You know - but...?"  
  
"Nothing. You're right. When we find Hanson, it's over and done."  
  
**October 1 1976 - 5 Years, 7 Months, 29 Days**  
  
Face woke that morning to see Ralph sitting at the top of the porch steps, rolling dough balls and dropping them softly into the bait can. He sat up, pushing the light blanket away, and smiled.  
  
"Third day again?"  
  
Ralph smiled, nodding his head. "Sorta. What them fancy folks call a 'half-holiday'. We do gotta keep at them goobers after all. Some things wait for nobody." He tossed the last dough ball in the can and stood. "But we catch us a right hardy breakfast first, eh?"  
  
Within minutes they were walking through the fields toward the river. Face immediately noticed they were going in a different direction than the other day and glanced nervously at Ralph, who, characteristically, just smiled calmly.  
  
"We goin someplace closer today. Less time walkin, more time fishin. Bigger fish, too, mostly. 'Sides, I wanna see you really got an eye for the sweet spot, or if that was jus luck the other day." Ralph looked at Face, who smiled softly. "Good skill to have, when you don't have a lot of time. Eatin on the run..."  
  
The smile disappeared. "Yeah."  
  
Ralph nodded, kept walking. He did that a lot, knocked at the door, let Face decide if it would open or not. Some days it did, other days...  
  
Today was one of those other days. He'd felt good when he first woke up. But then, something changed. Just in the time it took to clean up. That's when it started. He wondered, as he shaved, why the hell he bothered. The moment he thought it, he knew it was coming. He tried to ignore it. He really did. Focused on what Ralph was saying, focused on walking. Focused on the here and now. Nothing else.  
  
He wished Ralph hadn't said that...  
  
They moved silently through the woods now, starting to move into the marshland. Ralph said there was a good place for catfish ahead, just across the county line. The river meandered through the area about a mile and a half from the cabin, but the marsh spread out a lot further. Lots of good places for catfish to hide. Face let him keep talking. The more Ralph talked, the less Face felt the buzzing.  
  
They finally found a place, Ralph looking at him to see if he 'approved'. That soft smile again. It irritated Face today. Always smiling. Always. Just like...  
  
He nodded abruptly. He'd lost his enthusiasm for that "right hardy breakfast". Just catch a couple fish and go back. He looked around, noting the thick trees, branches rolling over the sky, blocking it in many places. No trees in the peanut fields. Nothing but drying up plants, plants that he could rip up in seconds when he drove through with the tractor. Leaving nothing but carnage in his wake.  
  
He jumped a little when Ralph handed him the pole. He took it with less hesitancy than he had at first. Ralph believed the best fishing poles were bamboo.  
  
There were a lot of things you could do with bamboo.  
  
And he didn't miss the look Ralph gave him, either.  
  
He stepped up on a half-submerged log and cast his line. Catch the damn fish and get out of here.  
  
Ralph didn't say anything for a while. Both men just concentrated on the water, their lines, waiting for the strike. Several yards up the stream another man was fishing. He waved; Ralph waved back. The sun started filtering through the trees. Face could feel it on his back. It felt good. Energizing.  
  
He was watching his line, watching as it drifted a little with the sluggish water, when he saw it. Stared at it.  
  
If you didn't move, they didn't strike.  
  
But this one was moving straight for him. Coming through the water, slowly, staring at him. Targeting him.  
  
He stepped back off the log, eyes glued to the snake as it pulled its full four-foot length from the water. His pole fell to the ground, startling the snake. It reared up, mouth open, hissing, and Face stopped short.  
  
He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Ralph moving toward them. Fast. Ralph hadn't seen the snake. He couldn't have. He was heading right for it. Talking. Saying something, but Face only saw him walking right into the path of those fangs.  
  
Just like Kyle.  
  
Not again.  
  
Not again.  
  
He spun towards Ralph, shoving with all his might. The two men fell into the mud, Ralph yelling out in surprise, trying to get up. Face couldn't allow that. Couldn't let Ralph get near that snake. He wouldn't lose another one. He wouldn't. He ignored Ralph's voice, holding him down while he looked for the snake. He had to know where it was. Where it was hiding, ready to strike again.  
  
And then someone was grabbing him, pulling at his shoulders, shouting angrily. He was yanked off Ralph, dragged back away from him. He saw Ralph starting to get up. Looked wildly for the snake. Couldn't see it. Lying in wait. Those arms around his shoulders, holding him back, stopping him from saving Ralph.  
  
He fought back.  
  
*****  
  
"I'll do it, Hannibal. The Army doesn't want me for anything. Now, the VA - that's a different story..."  
  
Hannibal smiled. "I appreciate it, Murdock, but I don't think you're old enough to be Hanson's father. He was only a year older than Face."  
  
"I could be his brother. I do brothers good."  
  
"Except this Hanson was a true Nordic type, Murdock. Blond and blue. You couldn't exactly claim family resemblance. And..." he continued as Murdock began to argue, "I need to ask the right questions, not go off on some tangent."  
  
"Tangent? Colonel..."  
  
"I mean, Murdock, the conversation has to stay focused on Kyle Hanson, not swerve over to Templeton Peck. I'm sorry, but..."  
  
Murdock sighed. "It's okay, Hannibal. You're right." He looked through the window, swallowed. "I guess I should feel guilty about this. I mean, I don't really care about Kyle. And he must've gone through the same hell as..." Murdock swallowed again.  
  
Hannibal frowned. "I know we talked about this before leaving, Captain, but I need to know how it is now, before it goes any further. It's going to be hard for me and BA, but it's also going to be hard on you. More importantly, we're asking this guy to tell us about things he's obviously had a hard time dealing with. This isn't just about Face, Murdock. If, at any point - any point - this guy decides to shut us down, that's it. I'm not going to screw him up any more just to satisfy our curiosity."  
  
"Understood, Colonel. I...I want to know, but...I wouldn't want somebody else pushing Face like that, either." Murdock drew a deep breath, nodded. "Whatever happens, Hannibal, I trust your judgment."  
  
Hannibal nodded, then looked at BA. The sergeant glared at him.  
  
"I still think you're nuts. Walking onto an Army base, going into an Army hospital, talking to an Army doctor - and you worried about this Hanson guy." BA shook his head. "Nuts. The both of you."  
  
Hannibal just grinned. "Well, this doc is a psychologist, so I guess I'll be in good hands."  
  
He stepped out of the van, smoothing back his still-dark hair, and strode toward the base entrance.  
  
BA wasn't the only one who thought he was nuts.  
  
The guard at the gate barely gave him a second look, just checked his roster, issued a pass, and gave Hannibal directions to the hospital. It was only about three blocks from the gate, so Hannibal felt a little more comfortable, knowing he wouldn't be "out in the open" for long. He was curious about this Dr Cleary. He sounded young on the phone, but eager to talk to Hanson's long-lost father. Almost made Hannibal feel bad for the subterfuge. The only thing that really bothered him was Cleary's reluctance to say anything about Kyle over the phone.  
  
The psych ward was on the third floor, separated from the rest of the hospital by a set of heavy doors, screen clearly visible in the glass. A buzzer to one side brought an attendant to the door, and within a few minutes, Hannibal was seated in a small office, reminiscent of Father O'Malley's, the only real difference being the choice of materials scattered about.  
  
That, and the chair was actually comfortable.  
  
He didn't have to wait long, either. One of the advantages of Army regimentation - everything ran according to schedule. Dr Cleary, a youngish man as Hannibal had thought, came brusquely into the office, just as the small clock on the wall chimed softly.  
  
"Mr Hanson?"  
  
Hannibal smiled briefly, nodding.  
  
"I'm afraid I will have to ask for some identification. Patient privacy and all that."  
  
"Certainly." Hannibal pulled out his wallet, hoping like hell that buddy of his in the props department wasn't just bragging. He turned over the driver's license, with Hannibal's new look, the name Ronald Hanson, and the year of birth slightly scratched. No point in tempting fate. Cleary glanced at it and handed it back, smiling apologetically, before getting immediately to the point.  
  
"Mr Hanson, I have to tell you upfront - your son is no longer at our hospital. In fact, I'm not sure where he is. I can't even guarantee that he's still alive."  
  
*****  
  
They'd sat, both of them staring off into space, for some time now. Neither one talking. Face didn't want to talk.  
  
What would it accomplish? What had it ever accomplished?  
  
It had taken him by complete surprise. One moment he was straddling that bastard, ready to finish him off, the next he was in the mud, Ralph standing over him, yelling. Ralph, silhouetted in the early sunlight, so Face couldn't really see him, just that dark outline, standing over him. Yelling.  
  
And Face had been afraid.  
  
Scared shitless.  
  
By a shadow man.  
  
He didn't hear what Ralph was saying. Didn't care. He scrambled to his feet, finally moving so he could see Ralph. So he was eye to eye with him. Brought the anger back, shoving the fear away.  
  
Took back the control. The power.  
  
And walked away.  
  
He could do that. Just like he could've taken Ralph out. If he'd chosen to.  
  
It had been his choice.  
  
Nobody else's.  
  
Why he hadn't kept going was something he still didn't understand. He'd gotten to the cabin, grabbed his few belongings, stuffing them into the pockets of his coat, and started for the road. Gotten as far as the tractor, parked by the shed.  
  
Ralph had been working on the engine last night. Showing Face what was wrong, how to fix it. Adjusting some little valve.  
  
Face stepped over to the tractor, reaching in, running his finger over that valve. By the time he and Ralph were through with it, that tractor had practically begged to go out in the field and show off its new power.  
  
When Ralph had finally shown up, having gotten that other guy back to his truck, hauled him into the local hospital, Face had finished one field, started the next. He'd seen Ralph, standing on the edge of the field. And just kept driving, listening only to the pulse of the tractor, the rhythm of the digger, the rasp of the plants being flipped, dead, to the earth.  
  
Concentrating only on the job at hand.  
  
Ralph had been waiting, sitting on a stump by the shed, when Face finally brought the tractor back. Seeing him sitting there, solemn and maybe angry still, brought a little of Face's own anger back.  
  
But only a little. Enough to remind him.  
  
He parked the tractor, started walking toward the cabin, past Ralph. Ralph had gotten up then, and Face turned, watched as Ralph suddenly took a step back. Damn right.  
  
"Don't ever touch me, Ralph. Not ever again."  
  
Never again.  
  
Ralph had gone into the cabin, and Face had lain on the couch on the porch. He could hear Ralph inside, fixing supper. It startled him, to realize the whole day was gone. Surprised him, as well, to realize how tired he was.  
  
So very tired.  
  
Ralph had brought out the plates, and silently they'd eaten.  
  
And then sat at the small table, on the far end of the porch, staring out at nothing.  
  
Ralph cleared his throat. Hesitant. Not looking at Face, he finally spoke.  
  
"I know what you were tryin to do, boy. But that snake...he was just scared. That's why he reared up like that. Tryin to scare away what scared him. Warn't poisonous or nothin. Just...scared."  
  
Face looked down at the ground.  
  
"But that wasn't what you saw, was it, boy? No, guess you saw somethin real different. And I 'preciate what you tried to do. Didn't think of it, myself, back then. Guess I saw somethin different, too. Shoulda known better. Sometimes, my thinkin gets a bit...fuzzy.  
  
"That other guy, name's Perris. Alton Perris. Doc said he'd be okay; ain't gonna be movin around much for a few days. Don't spose that matters to you, though. You did what come natural, I 'spect. What you had to. But there's bound to be some return fire on that.  
  
"I give Mr B a call, back there at the hospital. He gonna see what he can do, but that Alton Perris, well, his daddy ain't real big on his little boy gettin the shit kicked out of him. So I don't know what's gonna happen.  
  
"Might mean some jail time. And I know bein locked up ain't gonna go down too good with you. But y'know, back here it's different. Back here, they tell ya, okay, boy, that's thirty days. And you behave yourself, thirty days or less and you walk out the door. It's done with.  
  
"Now, I know you could jus take off. Ain't no way I could keep you, and I wouldn't try. Wouldn't want to, if you chose to go. But I'm askin you to stay and work this out. And I'll stick with you if you do."  
  
"Like this morning?" He couldn't keep the irony out of his voice.  
  
"This mornin especially. You did what you had to, to protect me. And I did what I had to, to protect you. That's what friends do for each other, boy."  
  
Ralph had gone in then, taking the supper dishes with him, and a short while later the lamp inside went dark. Face sat at the table. Thinking.  
  
Ralph was right about a lot of things. But he was wrong about being locked up. Face tossed a small stone from the porch.  
  
It's never done with.  
  
*****  
  
"I'd like to be able to fully discuss this with you, Mr Hanson, but unfortunately, I've been informed that I can't. While you are his father, Kyle is an adult, and thus, the Army has stated - very firmly, I might add - that I can't divulge his personal information. I feel bad about that, because I had already made a copy of his file for you." Dr Cleary placed his hand on a folder lying on his desk. "All I can tell you is that he was discharged from the hospital, and sent to a halfway house until a spot opened with the VA. Unfortunately, he left there without telling anyone where he was going."  
  
Dr Cleary was obviously not happy. Nor was Hannibal. What little Cleary had told him about Kyle Hanson made it clear they wouldn't be able to glean much, if any, information from him. If they could even find him.  
  
Hannibal frowned. "I don't understand. Why a halfway house? You made it sound like he was barely functional. What about a private hospital? Or one of the state's?"  
  
"His veteran's benefits wouldn't have covered anywhere near the costs of a private placement. And quite frankly, Mr Hanson, the last place you'd want your son is one of the state's facilities. I wouldn't send my dog there."  
  
Cleary glanced at his watch. "I'm afraid I have a patient to see, Mr Hanson. Again, I'm very sorry I couldn't be of more help." He once again laid his hand on the folder. "I'll send an orderly to show you out." He nodded abruptly and left.  
  
The moment the door closed, Hannibal was up, grabbing the folder. He didn't bother to look through it. Instead, he quickly tucked it into the back of his waistband, neatly hidden by his jacket. When the orderly arrive moments later, Hannibal was standing by the window, appropriately somber.  
  
There was a brief moment, as he walked out of the gate and casually strolled toward the van, when he realized exactly what he had done. When he suddenly felt himself relax. He shook his head, grinning. Maybe he really was crazy.  
  
Then he saw Murdock, looking out of the van window. Thought about the file, digging into his back.  
  
Maybe crazy wasn't so funny, after all.  
  
Not until the van was moving did he reach back and pull the file from its hiding place. He barely listened to Murdock's rapid-fire questions as he started reading. He skimmed the report; he would read it more thoroughly later, although he was already feeling queasy about it. It wasn't as if any of it was really his business. For the time being, he was merely looking for any clues as to where Kyle Hanson might be.  
  
It was stuck on a page near the back of the file. Just a notation, handwritten. Hannibal realized Dr Cleary had still been trying to trace Hanson.  
  
August of last year, an inquiry to the Army from a sheriff in Madoc County.  
  
"Head west, BA. We're going to pay a visit."


	10. Chapter 10

**October 2 1976 - 5 Years, 8 Months**  
  
He woke suddenly, sitting up on the couch, pulling the blanket around himself. Not that it was that cold; there had been nights, up in the mountains...  
  
He closed his eyes. Tight. His throat was sore, his face wet. He rarely had nightmares, rarely even had dreams that he could remember. This one was already gone, the only remnants the nearly overwhelming feeling of dread and...despair. He took a deep, shuddering breath before opening his eyes.  
  
Ralph was sitting next to the couch, on that old campstool.  
  
Waiting for him.  
  
Ralph handed him a small towel, and as he shakily wiped the moisture from his face, Ralph started talking in that soft, low voice. Talking about things that didn't matter, things that didn't make you think, things that didn't worry, things that didn't hurt.  
  
Maybe it was the words, or maybe it was more the tone of voice. Maybe it was little tales Ralph began telling about Korea. The Chinese. Not what happened, but how what happened made him feel. Then leaving those little silences, waiting to see if Face was ready, letting him take his own time, his own route.  
  
At first, he hadn't responded. It was always like this with Ralph. Sometimes he wouldn't say anything, other times he would tell Ralph little things. Nothing that would take Face back there. Nothing... dangerous. He'd tried so hard to put it behind him...so hard.  
  
Ralph was talking about the death marches, the camps. Hundreds of men deliberately starved to death. Scrounging for food wherever they could find it. Face nodded. He knew about hunger, all right. Remembered the garbage pile. The feeling of triumph when he'd sneak a bit of refuse right under the noses of the guards. Remembered the shame he'd felt as well. He'd never want the colonel to know what he'd done...  
  
"You jus did what you had to, to survive. Jus like us. Jus like any soldier would. Ain't no reason to be shamed of that, boy. Ain't no CO would look down on you for that. Not one worth his salt, anyways."  
  
He looked up, startled. He hadn't even realized he'd spoken aloud. He felt a slight tremor run through him, and he looked away, toward the shed. Ralph might think Face hadn't done anything wrong, but Ralph wasn't Hannibal.  
  
Hannibal would never have degraded himself that way. Or any of the ways Face had, just to stay alive. It didn't matter that he had no choice in what they had done to him. He could've ended it. There were opportunities. Face had chosen not to take them.  
  
Hannibal would rather have died than let those bastards use him the way Harry had used Face.  
  
Hannibal was...Hannibal was everything Face could never be.  
  
*****  
  
They had driven through the town yesterday, almost four hours after leaving Dr Cleary. Although he knew both BA and Murdock were stressed from both the long trip from LA and the visit to the Army base, he elected to continue driving until they reached the next town. There they took a room at a cheap motel, on the edge of town, away from prying eyes.  
  
And prying eyes would be a major consideration for the next phase of their search. Strangers stood out like sore thumbs in small towns, and, like it or not, BA stood out most of all. Hannibal hadn't even thought about it until they'd stopped at that gas station miles back and he'd noticed the locals watching BA. Okay, so he was a bit more muscular than most people, but otherwise, there was nothing about him to make those guys stare. Then he remembered where they were. The land of Rosa Parks, freedom marches...George Wallace. Times were changing, but not very fast, and a black man traveling with two white guys brought up harsh memories. BA was also aware of it; Hannibal could tell by the way he gripped the steering wheel. One reason to get this over and done with, and get them all back to familiar territory.  
  
The other reason was Murdock. Hannibal had insisted, and despite Murdock's glare, verified that he had his medications with him. Still, three days in a cramped van, with BA surly with worry over heading directly into "enemy territory", Hannibal concentrating on what small threads of a plan he had, and Murdock himself dwelling on Face and what Kyle might tell them - the pilot was definitely fraying a bit. He'd been spacing out more and more often, for longer and longer. Taking on characters with a bit too much intensity than mere boredom required. Normal annoyances became excuses for blowups.  
  
And, if truth be told, Hannibal himself wasn't dealing well with the situation. He disliked the idea of impersonating Hanson's father once again, feeling the silent condemnation toward the runaway father from the people he talked to. And his concerns about wreaking havoc with their quarry were mushrooming with every mile they drove. He knew it was starting to show, just from the looks he was getting from the other two.  
  
Definitely needed to finish this. Soon.  
  
The inquiry noted in Cleary's file had come from the county sheriff, a Jethro Pough. Murdock had laughed at that, at first, but a look from both BA and Hannibal had sobered him. The last thing they wanted to do was antagonize the people with the Intel they needed. This might be rural Alabama, but that didn't mean these folks were to be taken lightly. No one, of course, liked the idea of contacting the sheriff. It seemed, however, that Kyle Hanson almost inevitably drew the attention of all the wrong people, his trail leading to either military or civilian authorities. It didn't lessen Hannibal's qualms about finding him.  
  
If they even could.  
  
*****  
  
The sheriff hadn't allowed him to ride with Kyle, but Ralph noticed he kept the pace slow enough so the old pickup could stay close all the way to the jail in the neighboring county. What the sheriff had been expecting, he wasn't sure, but Kyle's response to being arrested, cuffed and placed in the back of the squad car had surprised Ralph.  
  
Because he hadn't responded at all.  
  
After Kyle had told him about the camp, and his colonel, Ralph had actually hoped that maybe he was going to open up more, start acknowledging and accepting the other things that had happened to him, whatever they might be.  
  
That had been the toughest part for Ralph, when he got back from Korea. Just finding someone who could understand, who'd been there. But it was hard; too many of the POWs over there had supposedly "turned"; no one wanted to talk about it, fearing they would be branded collaborators or worse, even though they knew letting it fester would only cause more problems. Ralph had been lucky. Lucky in finding the right doctor, lucky in finding Mr B. And when Mr B told him about Kyle, he couldn't say no.  
  
So it hadn't surprised him when Kyle wouldn't talk about it at first. It took a while before he would talk about Nam, and then a few "innocent" details about his flight from his captors. But nothing else. Until this morning.  
  
But after that disclosure, about the garbage pile, he'd shut up. Drifted off into that strange world of his and this time he hadn't come back. When the sheriff pulled into the yard, Kyle had stood and waited, listened quietly as the sheriff explained the charges. Hadn't flinched only a smidgeon when the cuffs went on. The sheriff was on his guard, and Ralph wasn't exactly calm. Both were waiting for the explosion that never came.  
  
And that bothered Ralph. A lot.  
  
From everything Mr B had told him, Kyle was not someone who would go quietly. Not if he had any choice in the matter. The sheriff hadn't had his gun out, hadn't made any threats. Kyle could have taken the slightly overweight and older man easily. That he hadn't even tried...  
  
Ralph watched through the glass door as the sheriff, flanked by two deputies, took Kyle's fingerprints. Sheriff Predmore was methodical, by-the-book without being dogmatic. He wouldn't go out of his way for Kyle, but he wouldn't make things any harder than he had to, either. As jails went in Alabama, Predmore's was one of the better ones. Kyle could've done worse.  
  
Predmore stepped outside as Kyle was led away by the two deputies. Ralph watched until they turned a corner and disappeared, then turned to the sheriff.  
  
"James?"  
  
Predmore shook his head. "Got a little problem there, Ralph. Perris is kickin up a fuss. Your boy mighta done okay, since Alton went after him first. But he shoulda quit long before he did. DA's not happy about it. There's talk he might kick it up to felony assault."  
  
"What? But I tol him maybe thirty days."  
  
"Not if the DA goes ahead with this. Then he's lookin at stretch with the state. A long stretch." Predmore shook his head again. "If I was you, Ralph, I'd get that Mr Bellows on the phone pronto. Maybe he can talk some sense into Mr Perris, and that'd go a long way with the DA."  
  
Ralph's shoulders sagged. "Can I talk to him?"  
  
The sheriff frowned, but finally nodded. "Yeah, soon as he's processed. But don't take too long. I like my guys to get settled as quick as possible."  
  
Some forty minutes later, Ralph was escorted into the jail itself. Gray walls, white ceilings, dark cement floors. Each cell they passed was enclosed by reddish-brown metal bars and had two bunk beds, a toilet, and a sink. No windows. It looked clean enough, in a run-down way, although it smelled as if it had been mopped with the same water for several days running. There were a dozen cells, all but three filled.  
  
Kyle was in a cell by himself, sitting on the lower berth of one bunk bed, rubbing his hand slowly over the orange fabric of his new uniform. He looked up slowly when Ralph cleared his throat.  
  
"Hey, boy. I'm afraid I got some bad news..."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal had elected to wait until morning to see Sheriff Pough. He had several things that needed to be done first.  
  
They had made more stops along the way than just that gas station - at other small towns, a couple of produce stalls along the highway, even stopped and talked with a farmer at the edge of his field. BA grumbled, and Murdock was impatient, but Hannibal insisted. He'd done all the talking, leaving the other two in the van. Always started out asking directions to an obscure little town he'd found on the map. Leading it to a discussion of tourists - and other strangers - passing through.  
  
Hanson had been mentioned several times, although not always by name. Crazy, loco, dangerous were frequent adjectives. And not in the past tense.  
  
He hadn't said anything to BA or Murdock. Just smiled and shook his head as if in defeat. For some reason he didn't quite understand, he wanted to keep this Intel to himself. Need to know basis. And right now, they didn't need to know the man they were searching for was, apparently, still in the area, and causing problems.  
  
As they ate their takeout lunch in the motel room, Hannibal formed his plan. He needed to know the lay of Little Sweet, the town where Hanson had apparently taken root. But he didn't want to send BA there with the van; their one swing through earlier that day was enough. A second would definitely be too noticeable. He didn't like it, but he had no choice. After lunch, he got a rental car and sent Murdock, after giving him strict, no-arguing instructions to look, don't talk, don't stop. Anything else and they would be headed back to LA. Period.  
  
He knew Murdock didn't like the tone, and he also knew it surprised BA, but Murdock was too...flighty right now. He had to make sure the man didn't cause problems that would sidetrack them. Only the threat of terminating the mission would do that.  
  
Now he just had to get rid of BA. He grimaced to himself at that, but it was only the truth. At least it was easy. The van, while in excellent shape from BA's ministrations, was still an old van. After being driven well over 2000 miles in just a few days, it undoubtedly needed some TLC. And, reminding BA that they were within a day's ride of several military bases, he sent him off to make sure their transport was ready for any quick and hard escapes. He didn't have to remind him to keep as low a profile as possible.  
  
With the motel room to himself, he pulled the file Dr Cleary had 'given' him from his valise, laying it reluctantly on the bed. Cleary, of course, hadn't said anything about Face. Hannibal had to know if Kyle had mentioned him at all. And that would involve reading the whole report for anything that might have come out. So far, Hannibal had only glanced through it. He'd felt uncomfortable with even the idea of probing into details that were none of his business. But with what he'd heard from those roadside conversations, he had to have the facts. He had to know how to handle Kyle when they questioned him.  
  
Or, maybe more realistically, how not to handle him.  
  
He began by skipping over the first few pages. He doubted there would be anything in the intake reports about Face, and, again, felt any information he'd actually need about Kyle would come in later. Unfortunately, when he did start reading, there were so many references to the "initial findings" that he was forced to go back to the beginning. The first report was from the doctor at the Saigon Embassy. He was surprised immediately. Hanson hadn't been 'rescued', as Hannibal had been led to believe - he'd escaped. Hannibal's estimation of the man went up even more. Then he read the doctor's description of the sergeant as he'd first appeared at the Embassy.  
  
It was hard to keep his professional detachment in place. Reading about Kyle...reduced to nearly an animalistic state. No idea how long he'd been in the jungle. Judging from his physical and emotional demeanor, at least a couple of months; if he'd escaped shortly after Green had seen him, possibly as long as eight.  
  
That was the first place Hannibal had to stop. His memories of the escape from 'their' POW camp were coming back in waves. It was something he thought he'd safely tucked away, but apparently not far enough away. Thinking now of Face, and the suspicions they'd all entertained, it made him feel...small. And no matter how rough their trek had been, it almost paled in comparison to Hanson's. At least they had been in a group, with others to lean on and give support to in return. Hanson had been on his own. No wonder...  
  
Sometime later, Hannibal stepped outside, bringing a cigar from his pocket, holding it absently in his hand. He'd finished reading. Despite his resolve to only look for 'pertinent facts', he'd found himself immersed in every detail. Coupling this report with those from Arnhold and Green, Hannibal had a sickening picture of what had happened to the sergeant. The least of what had happened. It was quite possible no one would ever know the full story, as Hanson was still refusing to talk when he'd disappeared. Maybe that was just as well.  
  
Not for the first time, Hannibal felt the doubts creep in about this 'mission'. More strongly than ever, he worried about finding Hanson, what questioning him would do to the man. He'd been through enough. More than enough. Those bastards over there had nearly broken him, and the military had pretty much completed the job. Who was he, the great Hannibal Smith, to push him even more? Was it really that important to learn what had happened to Face?  
  
Especially since he was no longer sure he wanted to.  
  
*****  
  
The jail was quiet now, except for the snoring that filtered through the cellblock. The lights in the cells themselves had gone out long ago, leaving only the lights in the hallway to softly illuminate his own. He stared at the floor, thinking.  
  
Ralph had started it. Talking about doing jail time. At first, his impulse had been to disappear, take to the road once more. Certainly, there would've been more hazards involved, with the law looking for him. That hadn't bothered him as much as the thought of jail. He figured, on the run, the eventual outcome would be his choice. He wouldn't need to go to jail at all.  
  
But that changed this morning, when he'd actually opened up, even that little bit, about the camp. Made him think, really think. He'd spent over two years with Harry. Another year and a half locked up in that hospital. He could do thirty days. Ralph had said he'd stick with him. That was good. Ralph could help him keep on track. Keep that buzz under control.  
  
And if things got too bad, he could always do something to get thrown into solitary. It would keep him from doing something worse, something that would add time to the sentence. The trade-off was dealing with his demons on his own, but he'd been doing that forever. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of solitary. There had been too many people getting into his life lately. Too many people forcing him to think, act.  
  
Feel.  
  
So when the sheriff finally came for him, he was okay with it. The cuffs had bothered him; a little too much loss of control. But he could deal with that. They'd come off when they got to the jail. It wasn't as if they'd stay on. Just like the thirty days. He could do that. He could see the end. Like Ralph said, do as he was told and when it was over, it was over.  
  
Then Ralph had come to the cell, and everything changed.  
  
He hadn't really heard what Ralph said after the ten years part. Something about going to Mr Bellows. He knew that wouldn't work. Mr B may be the big man in Madoc County, but he didn't mean diddly-squat over here.  
  
Ten years.  
  
He didn't see Ralph leave. Didn't see the meal shoved under the door, or pulled back out later, untouched. Didn't really notice when the lights went out, and the cells got quiet.  
  
He thought. He let his mind wander to places he'd forgotten, or misplaced. Not the dark places. He went to the light. The happiness.  
  
Thought of Father O'Malley, and the nuns. Smiled as he remembered the stunts he'd pulled, the reactions, the inevitable grudging smiles even as they dished out the punishment.  
  
Thought of Leslie. Not the way it ended, but the way it began. The way it grew. The ending didn't matter now. That's what Dao Quy had said. He remembered her voice, the softness. "But it doesn't matter, does it? In this time, this place?"  
  
He sighed. Dao Quy. Playing house. At first. She had given him...so much. Even kept him going in the camp. He still blamed himself for her death. For Cook.  
  
For Kyle.  
  
He tried to back away from those thoughts, but it was too late. He had to let them in now. The mistakes he'd made, the costs. The things he'd wished he'd done. The questions he'd never get answers to.  
  
He straightened, looked into the dimly lit hallway. All quiet now. Even the snoring had succumbed to the night. He stood, looked around the cell.  
  
He could've done thirty days. He could have.  
  
He turned then and quietly began pulling the sheet from the bunk.


	11. Chapter 11

**October 3 1976 - 5 Years, 8 Months, 1 Day**  
  
"His daddy, huh?" Sheriff Pough stared hard at Hannibal, slowly chewing on a bit of apple. He held the remainder of the apple in one hand, the jackknife in the other, and carefully cut through another slice as he stepped slowly to the window. He nodded at the van parked in front, where BA and Murdock waited. "Don't spose those are yours, too?"  
  
"They're with me, yes." Hannibal allowed a tinge of anger and impatience into his voice. After all, he was anxious to find his 'son', not yak with the locals. "Old Army buddies of Kyle's. Friends enough to want to help me locate him."  
  
"Hmm." The sheriff looked again at the driver's license Hannibal had given him. "Well, I'm afraid your son's in a bit of trouble, Mr Hanson. Got himself arrested over in Walmouth County, just west of here. Appears he got into some sort of fight over there."  
  
Hannibal closed his eyes briefly. Just the sort of thing he didn't want to hear. Glad, on the one hand, that he finally had a handle on the man, but not at all happy to find out it would mean a visit to another jail.  
  
"I'm afraid it's not the first time, although he's never been charged with anything before. But..." the sheriff looked closely at Hannibal, "you might want to have a talk with Jenny Bellows before you go racing up there. Your boy's got some...problems. Jenny's the only one who seems to have gotten through to him. Talking to her might make it easier for everybody concerned when you and your son make acquaintance again."  
  
There it was again. That veiled contempt. Not that he blamed them for it. A father walking out on his son, regardless of age, wasn't right. Any more than a colonel abandoning his lieutenant...  
  
"I'd appreciate it if you could call her, Sheriff, see if I could meet with her. I'd appreciate that very much."  
  
*****  
  
Sheriff Predmore listened as carefully as he could, though all this medical mumbo jumbo was going right over his head. He was tired and cranky from almost no sleep last night and hanging around the damn emergency room most of the morning. The doctor looked at him with a frown.  
  
"In a nutshell, Sheriff, his brain's a bit scrambled and his voice is gone, but both are temporary. He has to be watched for any respiratory problems, but...damn fool's lucky that other prisoner woke up when he did." The doctor shook his head in disgust. "But jail is no place for him. I did some checking on this sort of thing, and he's only going to cause more problems, trust me. I'm calling the judge and see to it this boy's sent up to Southern Life Hospital. They know how to deal with these types."  
  
"I don't know about that, Doc. The DA..."  
  
"Sheriff, that man's no more ready for trial than the man in the moon. The DA can have him when those folks at Southern are done with him. Whenever that is."  
  
Muttering to himself, the doctor turned and stalked away. Predmore shook his head and moved toward the door. Once this guy saw that hospital, he'd wish he'd just done his time like a man.  
  
Damn fool.  
  
*****  
  
They sat around the lace-covered table in uncomfortable silence. Jenny moved from one to the next, refilling their coffee cups, before sitting down once again to join them. She looked uncertainly to Hannibal.  
  
"I know he sounds like...well, he..."  
  
Hannibal smiled. Grinned. Finally chuckled. "Maybe to civilians, Jenny. But..." He flushed slightly, remembering that he wasn't supposed to be SF. Just the father of one. "I was in Korea," he added, somewhat lamely.  
  
Jenny looked at him, and he saw a little spark in her eyes. "Why did you walk away? You sound almost...proud of him. Why now? Why not then?"  
  
Hannibal shifted uncomfortably. "Did Kyle tell you anything about me?"  
  
"No. He never talked much about himself. Or Vietnam, or the Army, or the hospital. Everything was just...at the moment." She looked down at the table, picking at the lace. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't make judgments about you. And you're here now."  
  
"It's all right. There are a lot of things I regret." Hannibal frowned. "Leaving him was one of them."  
  
Murdock jerked at that. BA just glared. A warning glare.  
  
Hannibal ignored both of them. "I guess at this point I just want to try and make amends. And I'd appreciate any help you can give me in doing that."  
  
"The first thing to do is get him out of that jail. He...he can't deal with being locked up, closed in." She smiled ruefully. "He would use the shower here," she looked embarrassed, "just because there was nothing out on that island, you know. But even though he'd clean up afterwards, the floor was always damp. And the shower curtain was always dry."  
  
Murdock stared glumly at Hannibal across the table, and Hannibal thought perhaps he was finally starting to accept the realities of their situation. Of Hanson's situation.  
  
"I know how it sounds, but he...he just needs time to sort it all out. And if people would just leave him alone, instead of expecting him to just suddenly start acting...normal...They say he's dangerous, but he's not. Not really."  
  
"Somehow I don't think that guy he beat the crap out of would agree with you." Hannibal smiled wryly. "And I don't know how I can do anything about jail. If your father couldn't bail him out..."  
  
"My father-in-law wouldn't." There was a touch of bitterness that Hannibal hadn't heard from her before, but mostly resignation. "He's convinced that Kyle needs more than just letting him be. He's decided that at least in jail he'll get some kind of help. I don't agree, but..." She shrugged.  
  
"I thought you and he were pretty close. I mean, living here..."  
  
"No, I mean, I love Mr Bellows, and he's been good to me and Bobby...but he's pretty old-fashioned about some things. And his main focus has always been Bobby. I can talk to him, but once he makes up his mind, what I say doesn't really matter. He's the boss." She grimaced, fiddling with the handle of her coffee cup. "I don't know if you and Kyle can make up for lost time. I don't know if he'd be willing - or even able to. He has a lot to deal with without that. But I hope you'll at least try to help him, Mr Hanson. He's a good man, and he didn't ask for any of this."  
  
Hannibal hadn't thought it was possible to feel guiltier about his subterfuge, but he did now. Murdock and BA didn't didn't look much better.  
  
"I'll do my best, Jenny. I can't promise what the outcome will be, but I will do my best."  
  
*****  
  
"Doctor, we have a problem with the transportation."  
  
The voices were muffled, almost as if they were speaking into pillows. He knew some guy was standing right next to the bed, wearing white and writing on a clipboard, and he could vaguely make out another white-clad figure standing beside him. They were as fuzzy to his eyes as the voices were to his ears.  
  
He tried to say something, but his voice didn't seem to work. His throat was sore; his neck was sore. Hell, he was sore all over. There was something over his face. He reached for it, but his hand only moved so far. Something was holding it down. And the other arm. His legs. He couldn't move at all, more than an inch or so.  
  
Panic hit. He started yanking at the restraints, jerking his head, trying to get that...thing off his face. God, his neck hurt when he did that, but he had to get it off! He saw the man toss down the clipboard, and reach up above his head. He tried to see what the hell he was doing, but he couldn't turn his head that far. He kept jerking, trying to get free...  
  
And then everything started blurring badly, slanting away into a heavy, heavy fog before disappearing altogether.  
  
*****  
  
The doctor let out a heavy breath and stepped outside, followed quickly by the nurse. She took his arm as he started away.  
  
"Doctor, about the ambulance. That's why."  
  
"Why what?" He glared at her, tired and anxious to get home.  
  
"Why they won't take him. They're worried he might get violent, and they're not trained, or willing, to deal with that." She looked back at the closed door. "Everyone in town knows who he is, and what he did."  
  
The doctor pursed his lips, tight, shaking his head. "You tell those imbeciles that they will uphold their contract with this hospital, or be looking for other work. I'll make sure he stays sedated, and he'll be restrained anyway." He glanced at his watch. "You tell them to be here at seven sharp tomorrow morning. I'll come in early and get him ready for our heroes. And you make damn sure he stays sedated tonight. I don't need any middle-of-the-night babysitting calls."  
  
The nurse took one more nervous glance behind her before watching the doctor stalk down the hall and out of the ward.  
  
Damn right he'd stay sedated.  
  
**October 4 1976 - 5 Years, 8 Months, 2 Days**  
  
BA kept glancing at Hannibal, but the colonel hadn't said another word after giving the terse orders to head for the ferry. They'd agreed to meet Jenny there, not only to let her know what had happened at the jail, but so she could show them where Hannibal's 'son' lived. Neither Hannibal nor BA had been particularly interested, but it was part and parcel of the job, the pretending. Murdock, on the other hand, had almost seemed eager.  
  
BA didn't like the sudden change in Murdock. But after talking to that Jenny yesterday, he'd talked almost nonstop about Hanson. Repeating things Jenny had told them, speculating about whether those rumors were true, wondering what else he'd done before getting to Little Sweet...man sounded like a kid talking about some super-hero.  
  
And never once had he brought up how crazy this Hanson guy had to be. Or wondered what had happened to him in Nam to make him that way.  
  
But right now, it was Hannibal's sudden silence that worried him more. Despite their promise to do whatever they could, they all knew that bail was out of the question; they didn't have tons of money, to begin with, and sure as hell they weren't going to risk it on some guy who could take off, never to be heard from again. BA knew Hannibal's visit to the sheriff was really recon, in case they couldn't talk this Perris dude into getting the more serious charges dropped. BA wasn't too happy about dragging another nutcase across the country, but he couldn't see letting the poor guy rot in jail for ten years, either. Not after...  
  
BA flexed his grip on the steering wheel. Whatever Hannibal had learned from this Predmore, it hadn't been good news.  
  
BA figured they ought to be getting used to that by now.  
  
*****  
  
The ambulance pulled off the highway and began moving slowly up the long, pot-holed drive to the entrance of Southern Life Hospital. The driver unconsciously gripped the steering wheel a bit harder; he'd been on edge most of the way up here, waiting for some kind of commotion from the back. He and his partner had flipped a coin to see who drove and who rode with the wacko. He should count his blessings, but he just wanted to dump this guy and get the hell out of there.  
  
He pulled up in front, stopping a few feet from the entry, with its four massive columns reaching up to the very top of the four-story building. Stepping out of the ambulance, he took a nervous glance down the length of the building, stretching forever on either side of the entrance. Somebody had told him this place had over five thousand people in it, all retards or wackos. Man, he hated coming here. Felt a twinge of pity for the guy in back.  
  
He opened the back door and his partner climbed quickly out, also looking nervously around. Sometimes the inmates were outside, but not often. Didn't pay to take chances, though. He grimaced at his partner, a new guy for this run.  
  
"Okay, let's get him inside. Just don't pay attention to anything that's going on, y'know? Ain't none of our business."  
  
"Whatcha mean?"  
  
"You'll see. Just keep your mouth shut and we'll get this guy turned over and get the hell out of here."  
  
They gave the gurney a yank, pulling it out of the back and dropping the legs to the ground. It was clumsy getting it up the stairs, and both men were hot and cranky by the time the front door opened and they wheeled it inside.  
  
Lonnie breathed through his mouth and smiled grimly at his partner. The whole place had a smell to it, like a giant chicken coop. All the state nuthouses had fallen on hard times; even had a big lawsuit over it. Didn't mean anything changed. As they walked up to the admitting desk, he watched the inmates around them. Most were sitting in chairs, doped to the gills to keep them quiet. Others sat on the floor or wandered aimlessly from room to room. He heard loud voices from somewhere down a long hallway, and then a guy came running out, crying. He rushed past Lonnie, a big welt on his arm. Lonnie just shook his head. He didn't like messing with retards, but he didn't like to see them beat up either. But he took his own advice and pretended he hadn't seen a thing.  
  
He signed the forms for the sour-looking woman behind the desk and spent a few impatient minutes waiting for two orderlies to come. They led the way down another hallway to an elevator. The four men crowded in with the gurney; it was impossible to escape the stench once the doors closed on them. They went up to the third floor, down another long hall, and stopped at a huge door. One orderly pulled a key and unlocked it, motioning them inside. Another hall, shorter, and more forms to sign. They pulled the gurney up to a bed halfway down the ward, and the orderlies grabbed their new patient and plopped him on the bed. A nurse came over and after replacing the oxygen mask with the one by the bed, began checking him over.  
  
Lonnie nodded to his partner, and they began the long journey back to freedom. As they drove away, faster probably than necessary, Lonnie breathed out.  
  
And said a quick, almost embarrassed, prayer for the poor bastard they'd left there.  
  
*****  
  
Jenny smiled as they climbed out of the van, but Hannibal noticed the quick glance behind them, and the waver of that smile when Kyle didn't follow. She spoke before he had a chance.  
  
"I know I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, but..." She shrugged, self-consciously. "I thought we'd go right up to his camp; it's a little cooler up there, and we can sit while we talk."  
  
Hannibal nodded, and they stepped aboard the ferry. BA grabbed the rope and started pulling them across, while Hannibal and Jenny stood at the rail, quiet. Murdock couldn't seem to stand still at all and shadowed BA until threatened with being thrown overboard. Abruptly, he came and stood by Hannibal, sullen but quiet.  
  
A few minutes after docking on the other side, they were moving up the hill and into view of Kyle's camp. Jenny was explaining it was actually an old surveyor's shelter. Hannibal looked closely at the structure. The basic structure was made of saplings and a series of tin sheets the roof. It had only one solid wall, at the back, made of a variety of wooden planks. The other three sides were merely tarps, tied back like curtains with odd bits of rope. A circle of stones formed a small fire pit just outside the front, with a second, even smaller one toward the back, sheltered from the elements. Tree stumps and more wood planks formed a somewhat slanting table, and three 'stools'. On the ground in the back corner was a mattress of leaves and pine boughs, covered by a sheet and thick blanket. It was tidy, Spartan and totally impersonal.  
  
Hannibal couldn't imagine someone wanting to live like that.  
  
It only took BA a moment's glance to lose interest in the shelter. Hannibal watched as he glanced around at the several small craters scattered about, various small plants not quite filling them. Obviously from the famous battle.  
  
Murdock had immediately stepped into the shelter, examining every inch before plopping down on the mattress, "Indian-style", and stared at Hannibal. It was obvious he was through waiting. Sighing, Hannibal motioned to Jenny and BA, and they made themselves as comfortable as possible on the stools.  
  
"Well, the news isn't good. It seems the night he was arrested, Kyle tried to hang himself..."  
  
It seemed to take forever to give them the details, simple as they were. Hannibal figured Kyle had already arrived at the hospital, and Predmore told him it would be at least a couple of days before he was allowed visitors.  
  
If he was in any shape to do so.  
  
Hannibal's eyes moved between Murdock and Jenny. He didn't worry about BA. He knew exactly how he would take the news - angry on the outside, sorrow on the inside. He and Hannibal would talk later, when BA was ready, not before.  
  
Murdock had gotten very quiet and still, staring down at the ground. Hannibal frowned when he suddenly put his hands on his head, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn't say anything, and Hannibal wasn't sure if that was good or bad.  
  
He looked at Jenny. She was staring, also, but out toward the woods that surrounded the shelter. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she was fighting for control.  
  
A strong young lady.  
  
She blinked her eyes and looked back at Hannibal. Took a deep breath. Her voice only had a slight tremor when she spoke.  
  
"You need to go see Ralph. Before you go up to the hospital. You have to talk to Ralph."

**October 5 1976 - 5 Years, 8 Months, 3 Days**  
  
Sheriff Predmore hung up the phone, shaking his head. He knew he should have retired last year. He was getting too old for this crap.  
  
Sighing, he reached for the phone, getting the long distance operator. Within a couple minutes, he was waiting for the answer on the other end. A harried voice came on.  
  
"Listen, this is Sheriff Predmore. We sent a guy up there yesterday, name of Kyle Hanson....yeah, that's the one. We got a little problem with him, identification-wise. I need to make sure he doesn't go anywhere for a while...yeah, the judge is being contacted. You'll be getting the paperwork, probably this afternoon. You just make sure...No, I don't know how long it will be. We gotta figure out who he really is, first...yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks."  
  
He stared at the phone for a few more minutes, thinking about that fella who'd come in yesterday. Hanson's father. Frowning, he pulled out the paper with the phone number Hanson had given him, for the Bellows residence.  
  
Might as well save that guy a trip.


	12. Chapter 12

**October 5 1976 - 5 Years, 8 Months, 3 Days**  
  
BA wasn't bored, exactly, but he was getting a little restless. They'd arrived at Ralph's cabin hours ago, and as yet, Kyle Hanson had barely come up in conversation. Once Ralph found out Hannibal - Ronald Hanson - had been Korea, there was no going back. And Hannibal, for some odd reason, indulged him.  
  
Or maybe it wasn't so odd. Hannibal rarely talked about Korea. BA didn't think it was because of bad memories as much as none of the rest of them knew much about it. Hard to talk about memories, good or bad, when the guys around you didn't even know where half those places were. What it was like.  
  
So, after the tour of the place - apparently mandatory in these parts - BA had gone over to look at the tractors. He didn't know much about farm machinery, but engines were engines. It only took a few minutes before BA realized that Ralph was a decent mechanic. But no genius. Ralph, with Hannibal and Murdock in tow, had mentioned a couple problems he'd been having. That was all it took.  
  
Murdock had wandered along during the tour and then sat down on the couch on the porch as the gabbing began. It didn't take long before he lost interest, as well. Ralph did have an odd way of talking; soft, slow, relaxing to the point of almost putting you to sleep if you weren't really listening to what he said. And Murdock wasn't listening; BA knew it wasn't just because of the subject. They didn't have the scale of air war in Korea they'd had in Vietnam. If it wasn't flying, Kyle, or Face, Murdock lost interest real quick.  
  
BA had called to Murdock when he saw him glancing inside the cabin. He shook his head as the pilot ambled over to the machine shed. Sometimes it seemed like he had no sense of privacy, or manners, anymore. Even back at Kyle's camp, he'd just made himself at home. BA didn't like that. Didn't matter to him if it was a fancy house or a piece of tarp, a man's place deserved some respect.  
  
BA kept Murdock occupied handing him tools and grease, although most of the time BA was having to explain what he wanted in a lot more detail than he figured was needed. But it kept Murdock out of trouble, and let Hannibal relax with Ralph. And Hannibal needed to relax. He hadn't seen the colonel that tense since...hell, who was he kidding? Hannibal had been on edge ever since Wiley got sick.  
  
Hannibal came wandering over just then; BA looked up to see Ralph disappearing into the cabin.  
  
"So?" Murdock hardly waited for Hannibal to light up. "What'd he say about Kyle?"  
  
"Nothing, yet." Hannibal frowned. "He's an odd one. Doesn't surprise me he and Hanson got along, though. He's going to fix some lunch - said he hasn't had a lot of company, and he likes to cook." He raised his hand as Murdock started to protest. "He told me we'd talk about Kyle after we'd eaten. I think he was trying to decide if we were 'worthy' before." Hannibal chuckled. "He's definitely not as 'country' as he seems."  
  
After a lunch that proved Ralph not only liked to cook, but was damn good at it, BA had mentioned he had some things to finish on the tractor, and Hannibal pulled Murdock inside with him for KP. Ralph walked with BA and watched quietly as he worked.  
  
"I appreciate what you all are doin for Kyle, goin to all this trouble to find him." Ralph stared out at the peanut fields. "And after all this time, too."  
  
BA stopped his work for a moment. "Yeah, well...his dad was pretty set on it, and he was a good friend..." Damn, he hated lying like that.  
  
"Yeah. His daddy..." Ralph chewed on his cheek a bit, then spit. BA kept working. "Musta been real young when he had that boy. Real young. Funny, too, 'cause it'd be awful hard to get through West Point, trying to provide for a family he weren't sposed to have."  
  
BA stopped working then, and frowned at Ralph.  
  
"Yeah, I know he ain't Kyle's daddy. Now what I want to know is why you really tryin so hard to find him. And I figger you're the one's gonna give me the truth." He held up his hands, placating the outburst before it came. "Not callin the other two liars. Just...not as worried about skirtin the truth. That's what officers are trained to do, ain't it?" He winked.  
  
BA hung his head before smiling up at Ralph. "Yeah, that's officers." He sobered then. "But we don't mean any harm to Kyle. That's the truth, man. He was with our LT in the camps over there, and, well, the LT didn't make it. He, uh...he shouldn't' a been there. Kinda our fault he was. Murdock's kinda... "  
  
"Stuck on that?"  
  
"Yeah. We just tryin to find out what happened. More'n the Army can tell us."  
  
Ralph frowned. "I understand what you all want, but I don't know. That boy's got a heap of trouble on him right now. Has for a long time. I don't know that he'd tell you anything. And I don't know that I'd like to see him pushed."  
  
"We ain't gonna push him. The colonel made that clear. I think, even though he's never met him, he respects him. Respects what he did, what he's been through. Guess we all do. I think what he's really hopin is it lets Murdock settle down some, just findin him. If he can't tell us nothin, that's okay. Leastways Murdock will know we tried."  
  
Ralph nodded and looked up at the cabin. Sighed.  
  
"Okay, then, BA. Let's go talk."  
  
**October 6 1976 - 5 Years, 8 Months, 4 Days**  
  
Mr Bellows came into the kitchen that morning, poured a cup of coffee, and, instead of going into the dining room for breakfast, leaned against the counter and watched Jenny as she stirred the eggs. She looked over at him, smiling softly. He returned the smile, but there was something forced about it.  
  
"Something wrong, Dad?"  
  
"I got a phone call last evening. From the sheriff over in Walmouth County."  
  
Jenny stopped stirring and turned, spatula dripping egg onto the floor. "Kyle?"  
  
"Kind of. I wanted to talk to you last night about it, but you were...occupied with those folks."  
  
Jenny blushed. "I'm sorry, Dad. But..."  
  
"No, don't apologize. I know you wanted to know how their meeting with Ralph went. I imagine Mr Hanson had a lot of stories to tell about Kyle, as well." He looked at her, frowning.  
  
"Well, no, not really. I guess he traveled a lot...but what about Kyle? Is he all right?"  
  
Mr Bellows turned and set the coffee cup on the counter, then stared at the floor for a moment.  
  
"They took his fingerprints, you know. Sent them off to Washington, just procedure."  
  
Jenny frowned, but said nothing.  
  
"The FBI called the sheriff. They compared those fingerprints to the ones the Army had on file for Kyle Hanson." Mr Bellows looked up, almost sadly. "They didn't match, Jenny. Your friend isn't Kyle Hanson. They don't know who he is."  
  
Jenny went almost white, and Mr Bellows straightened suddenly. She shook her head.  
  
"I'm all right, Dad. I just...I don't understand..."  
  
"Well, nobody does at this point. But until the FBI and the Army figure it out, they've decided to keep Kyle, or whatever his name is, up there at the hospital. It's the one thing everybody seems to agree on, at least for now."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Mr Bellows ran his hand over his face, sighing. "I mean the real Kyle Hanson was at the Army hospital in Mobile, and walked away, in one piece, from that halfway house. That's the last anyone saw him. Then this fella turns up with Kyle's coat..."  
  
"They can't think he...no, there's no way he..."  
  
"Look, Jenny, let's just calm down now, all right? Nobody's coming right out and saying he did anything. There's just a lot of questions that have to be answered. A lot of questions..."  
  
*****  
  
Face slowly opened his eyes, looking blearily around him. He'd been moved out of the infirmary earlier that morning, placed in what he assumed was a ward. There were dozens of beds, many of which, like his, were bereft of linens. Some people were lying on thin mats right on the floor. Occasionally he saw a nurse hurry past the door; otherwise, he'd seen no one that looked remotely like a doctor. Most of the people in the ward did as he had - slept their time away.  
  
Something had awakened him. He sat up, carefully. His head still ached, and his neck was stiff. It had been a dumb thing to do, he knew. But he also knew, given the chance, he'd do it again. Given the circumstances, why wouldn't he? Only this time he'd plan it better.  
  
Then he saw what had awakened him. The noon meal. Or maybe it was supper. It was cloudy outside, and even with the large windows, difficult to tell what time of day it was. He only knew he was hungry, and assumed that the big trolley with the five-gallon milk can on it meant a meal.  
  
He watched, puzzled, as the orderlies tore bread slices and tossed them into the can. They then stuck in a ladle and brought out some kind of soup, he assumed, and poured it into bowls. Each patient got a bowl and spoon; he took his gratefully, only to realize that it wasn't soup at all.  
  
Milk, with chunks of sopped bread in it.  
  
Lukewarm, at that.  
  
He watched as the trolley moved past, stopping at each bed. Woe to the patient who wasn't awake; the bowl was placed next to their bed, and any other patient close enough grabbed it as soon as the orderlies moved on.  
  
Face slumped down, began eating slowly.  
  
Welcome back.  
  
*****  
  
"So I guess that's it, then."  
  
Hannibal pulled a cigar and lit it, dropping back against the back of the couch. BA, standing by the window, shook his head and stared out at the street in front of the motel. Murdock looked from one to the other, brow slowly furling into anger.  
  
"What, you mean we're just gonna walk away? I thought you liked this guy, thought we were gonna help him out?"  
  
"Murdock, this isn't even the right guy. We've been on a snipe hunt. God only knows where Kyle ended up - probably in some goddamned ditch between here and Mobile."  
  
"Maybe. But maybe not. This guy has Kyle's coat, Hannibal! He's got to know something. Maybe they were friends, y'know, and Kyle gave him the coat. Maybe he knows where Kyle went. Maybe..."  
  
"Maybe nothing, Murdock! Kyle didn't have friends. He didn't talk to people, he didn't relate to people." Hannibal stood, hands on his hips, glaring back at Murdock. BA stood back from the window, watching them both. "There's no point in taking this any further, Captain. It's done, over! There's nothing more we can do here. Nothing more to learn about Face. He's dead, and nothing is going to change that."  
  
"But, but, what about Jenny? She doesn't care what this guy's name is. She's his friend! She wants..."  
  
"Murdock, Jenny doesn't even know his real name. He's never told her anything about himself, where he came from...everything she knows about him is a lie. Other than the fact that he's obviously violent if anyone crosses him. What would've happened if she'd said the wrong thing?"  
  
"He wouldn't hurt her. I know it!"  
  
"And just how do you know that?" Hannibal shook his head. "No, Murdock. We've carried this as far as it can go. I feel for Jenny, but it's no longer our problem." He sighed, softened his tone. "I know this isn't what you wanted. I know you - hell, all of us - wanted...something more. But that was just because we couldn't accept what happened. The way it happened. But what's done is done, and we all did what we thought was right at the time. We can't change it; we just have to learn to live with it, put it in the past where it belongs. I'm sorry, Murdock."  
  
He turned to BA, surprised to see him tensed, ready to move into action. "It's okay, BA. Let's get loaded up. The sooner we get back to LA, the better."  
  
"No! I'm not going back there yet. Not until I know..."  
  
"There's nothing more to know! Damn it, Murdock, we have no idea where Kyle is, or if he's even alive. And he probably wouldn't have been able to tell us anything we didn't know anyway." Hannibal sat back down, abruptly, staring at the carpet. "I shouldn't have dragged us out here to begin with. I think I just wanted to do something, anything, to come to terms with it, to make up for it...to live with it. Or maybe I just...used Kyle. To hide from Face. From what I did to him." Hannibal's shoulders slumped. "It's over, guys. Over. We leave the ghosts here."  
  
**October 7 1976 - 5 Years, 8 Months, 5 Days**  
  
He sat in a large room. Windows lined one wall, but they hadn't been washed for a while. The sun coming in was muted, like through a lampshade. He didn't complain. He didn't say a word. He did what they told him.  
  
And waited.  
  
He heard a noise, off to the side. Not one of the noises he'd gotten used to - mumblings and shufflings. He'd even gotten used to the crying and yelling. Ignored them. Amazing how quickly the habit returned. He hadn't quite found his way out of the noise, though. No calling on Dao Quy this time. Jenny wasn't...no. Jenny wasn't.  
  
He heard the noise again. Kind of a plunking noise. A voice, just after. Not really a word, just a voice, making another noise. He looked to the side. Nothing there at first. Just some guy, strapped to a chair. A lot of those around here.  
  
He sighed, closed his eyes, leaned back against the wall. He'd found a quiet corner, away from the rest of them. Most of them. One guy kept wandering over and looking at him. Face paid no attention. He knew that look. Vacant. There'd been a couple kids at the orphanage like that. Slow. Scared him at first, until he'd been around them for a while.  
  
He heard the plunk again. Looked up in time to see the rubber ball bouncing across the floor. Watched as one of the orderlies retrieved it, and went back to the other side, where two others were sitting, laughing. Face watched as the first guy threw the ball again. It bounced off the kid in the chair.  
  
The three orderlies laughed when the kid hollered.  
  
Face's vision blurred. He felt the tremor go through him. Felt the heat, the rain. The rope tied tightly around his waist, the other to a tree...ignoring the softer things they threw at him...ran from the rocks, this way, that way, inevitably forgetting the length of the rope.  
  
Hearing the guards laughing. Always laughing...  
  
He slid up the wall, bracing against it. Everything in him screaming at him to ignore the orderlies, ignore the kid. Seeing Jenny, offering him a drink, giving him breakfast. Ignore them.  
  
Ignore them.  
  
Jenny...  
  
**October 7 1976 - 5 Years, 8 Months, 5 Days**  
  
BA swerved, slamming on the brakes so suddenly Hannibal nearly went headfirst into the windshield. Murdock landed with a thud on the floor. BA ignored their protests, glaring at each of them until they were silent.  
  
"I'm tired of listenin to your fightin and arguin. Don't matter bout Kyle, don't matter bout Face, don't matter bout anything anymore! Nothin! Face is dead, Murdock! Dead! Ain't nothin gonna bring him back, and you whinin and mopin ain't gonna do a damn thing to change that!  
  
"And you..." BA turned his glare to Hannibal, "you don't hafta act like some damn dictator. Only reason I'm takin anybody back to LA is 'cause it's time. Not cause you issuin orders. Once we get there, the two of you can rip each other to shreds and I won't give a damn, but in my van, when I'm drivin, you both shut the hell up!"  
  
Satisfied only with their silence, BA turned his attention back to the road, pulling off the shoulder and back into traffic. He didn't think he meant everything he'd said, but damn near. He'd tried real hard to be patient with Murdock yesterday; Hannibal should've handled that different. They could've waited a day, let everything sink in, brought up goin back slowly. Murdock might've come around then. He knew they were all hurting, but damn...  
  
The weather hadn't been helping, either. Thunderstorms, heavy rain, fog when that let up. Seemed like they were just creeping along the highway. And all the time, them two sniping at each other. Enough to drive a man to drink. He knew their silence wouldn't last forever; probably not more than an hour, if he was lucky. But maybe they'd take the hint and keep it down some.  
  
He glanced at the gas gauge, shaking his head. The van was a good runner, for the most part, but it sure ate up the gas. He started looking for signs of a gas station, and within a couple miles was able to pull onto an exit. The station was in a little town about a mile off the highway.  
  
While he worked the pump, filling the near-empty tank, Hannibal headed into the little shop next door to get supplies. Murdock stalked off for the men's room. It took a few minutes before the tank was full, and BA shoved the nozzle back on its hook. He went inside, paying for the gas and coming back out just as the rain started in again. Hannibal was already in the van.  
  
BA got in and looked in the back seat, frowning.  
  
"Where's Murdock?"


	13. Chapter 13

**October 8 1976 - 5 Years, 8 Months, 6 Days**  
  
The windshield wipers were moving back and forth, back and forth, the soft thud sounding over the low drone of the engine. The only sounds heard in the van. It was dark, the early morning sun totally obscured by black clouds and rain. They had been driving for almost an hour, on some damn two-lane highway, watching as far into the distance as they could see. Knowing that if Murdock spotted them first, he'd only run off and hide until they had passed.  
  
Yesterday's search of the restroom, the complex around the gas station, and the neighboring town had yielded nothing. Not that either of them thought it would be that easy. Yesterday his goal had been to hide; today it would be traveling. Fortunately, the very weather that made driving difficult for Hannibal and BA would make it equally difficult for Murdock to catch a ride. The drenched look just did not appeal to most drivers.  
  
At least they knew where he was headed, and were on the only road that led directly to the city where Southern Life was located. According to the locals, it should take them right past the hospital itself. Hannibal figured if they missed Murdock on the way, they'd catch him there.  
  
Hopefully, before he tried anything stupid.  
  
What would happen after they found him was another thing. BA was of the opinion that the only way to get Murdock back to LA without hog-tying him was to take him to the damn hospital and let him see that this guy was of no use to them. Hannibal hadn't said anything, but his jaw had tightened. BA knew that meant one thing - Hannibal agreed but wasn't quite ready to admit it. Or like it.  
  
And of course, the bigger issue was Murdock's insubordination. Improvising during missions was okay; disobeying Hannibal was not. He still considered himself the CO, and if Murdock wanted to continue with them, he had to accept that. BA had, and so had Wiley. Even Ray had, whenever they'd gotten together. They were free to live their separate lives, as much as that was possible, but Hannibal always had the final say. Always.  
  
But that was something to deal with later. Once all this crap was over and done with. When they could all settle down, talk like the soldiers and friends they were. BA sighed, causing Hannibal to glance over before returning his stare to the road ahead.  
  
"Time, Hannibal?"  
  
"Another couple miles, BA. Another couple miles."  
  
*****  
  
He couldn't really see where he was. Like being in the shade. Light, but no light. His brain felt...clogged. He turned his head, wincing. Some small room. He could just barely hear voices on the other side of the wall. He tried to sit up, but couldn't move. He jerked his arms, legs, twisted his body, anything to break free. Over and over, until he had to stop, dizzy, sick.  
  
Helpless.  
  
And for what?  
  
He remembered moving across the room, toward the orderlies. Grabbing the ball just as the guy was going to throw it again.  
  
No.  
  
Not the ball.  
  
The arm. Twisting it.  
  
Hard.  
  
Didn't snap. More of a grinding noise.  
  
The guy yelling.  
  
He closed his eyes.  
  
Lots of yelling.  
  
God, he was so tired...  
  
*****  
  
He didn't run, after all. Maybe the rain was too heavy for him to see anything but the headlights coming. But he stood by the side of the road, thumb out in the classic pose. Hannibal rolled down the window as the van pulled up beside him. The two men stared at each other, one pale, the other outwardly calm.  
  
"Why don't you get in, Captain?"  
  
Murdock looked up and down the road, licking his lips, stepping back from the van.  
  
"I think we're going your way, Murdock."  
  
Murdock stopped, looking at Hannibal like a beaten dog looks at an offered bone, and then climbed in the side door. Hannibal rolled up the window and settled back into his seat, staring straight ahead.  
  
"There's a blanket in back. And some snacks from last night."  
  
BA was glad Hannibal's voice was soft, matter-of-fact. No recriminations. Not yet. He glanced in the mirror in time to see the look of uncertainty from Murdock, before the pilot turned and reached into the back.  
  
"Hannibal?" BA spoke just as softly, almost like he was afraid of setting one or both of them off again.  
  
Hannibal just nodded, said, "Let's get it over with." That same neutral tone.  
  
BA smiled, just a little, and pulled back onto the highway.  
  
*****  
  
The door opened again. He could barely open his eyes this time. The last time, he'd seen someone in white come up to the bed, felt the sharp sting of a needle in his arm. Drifted off again.  
  
The door closed, softly.  
  
How many times were they going to shoot him up, anyway?  
  
His head more or less fell to the side as he looked toward the door. Someone standing there. Out of focus.  
  
No white uniform.  
  
He closed his eyes. Somewhere, in the fuzz that was his brain, he knew something was off. Didn't matter. He couldn't do anything. Couldn't stop it. Whatever it was.  
  
Too drugged to care.  
  
Shuffling. Toward the bed.  
  
A muffled giggle.  
  
He looked up. That kid. Eddie. The slow one who'd kept coming over to his corner. Standing in the middle of the room now.  
  
He blinked, trying to clear his vision.  
  
Eddie, standing there, vacant eyes, one hand over his mouth, muffling another giggle.  
  
The other on his crotch, as he shuffled toward the bed.  
  
*****  
  
They'd driven past the gates several times before pulling up into a small wooded area, but couldn't see the hospital itself. Hannibal didn't like the idea of going in blind. Nor did he like the plan they'd finally come up with, but it did no good to be Ronald Hanson if there was no Kyle Hanson. If they'd only been able to find a suit to fit Hannibal...  
  
He turned his attention back to Murdock, who sat impatiently next to him on the van's bench. Delicately, Hannibal pasted the other half of the mustache above his upper lip. Nothing extravagant, just enough to draw some attention. That, with a pair of glasses and a conservative homburg, should keep anyone from accurately describing the real man. He didn't particularly care for the slight smell of mothballs coming from the suit, hastily purchased at a second-hand store, but maybe it wouldn't be that noticeable.  
  
Finished, he sat back and looked at his handiwork. Sighed. It would work. If Murdock could pull off his part of it.  
  
As if reading his mind, Murdock smiled. "I can do it, Hannibal. Nobody knows how to talk to hospital folk like I do. I'll find him, don't worry."  
  
"But what about after, Murdock? Once you find him..."  
  
"I'll be careful, Colonel. And I won't push him. Just find out if he can tell me anything about Kyle."  
  
"And if he can't, or won't?"  
  
"I'm outta there. Promise, Hannibal, cross my heart and hope to fly." Murdock winked. "But if he can, we pull him out, right?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you can find your way back to him. I don't want to be running around some nut house..." He stopped, embarrassed. "Sorry, Murdock."  
  
"No problemo, Colonel. Cleary said these places were bad." Murdock frowned. "Maybe we could pull him out anyway. For Jenny?"  
  
Hannibal closed his eyes. Murdock still had this picture of Kyle Hanson in there. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Just make damn sure you don't mention anything about a breakout until he comes clean about Kyle. I don't want a bunch of fairy tales out of this guy."  
  
"Right."  
  
Hannibal turned to BA. "You have that ID ready?"  
  
BA nodded, reluctantly. He was no genius with these things, but he figured the doctored driver's license would pass muster, at least with people who probably hadn't seen an official FBI badge. "Just don't let em get too long a look at it."  
  
"Righteo." Murdock slid the ID into his wallet and grinned. "Well, gentlemen - shall we go?"  
  
*****  
  
He kept his eyes closed, tight, as he fought to stop the tremors. The hand that had gently pulled his pajama bottoms down was now fondling his genitals, and, try as he might, he couldn't shut out the soft humming, the occasional giggle, coming from the kid who stood next to the bed, his other hand still on his own crotch. He wanted to call out for help, wanted to scream, but he couldn't open his mouth, couldn't utter a sound. His body, his brain - drugged up inertia.  
  
Helpless.  
  
"Goddamn it, Eddie!"  
  
His eyes shot open as the hand was suddenly yanked away. Voices, shouting, crying. The kid fell on top of him, body jerking as an arm flailed at him with a wire coat hanger. As the kid struggled, some of the blows came down on Face instead, stinging like a hot brand. More people crowded into the room, and the kid was finally dragged away.  
  
"I told you to keep an eye on that pervert. Goddamn retard! Lock him up! I don't want see his ugly puss for at least a week, you got me?"  
  
The door slammed shut, and there was sudden silence.  
  
Trembling, Face tried to reach down for his pajama bottoms, but his hands wouldn't respond. Wouldn't move. He could do nothing but let the tears of frustration flow.  
  
*****  
  
"I don't know why they'd send another investigator. Your people were here just yesterday."  
  
Murdock's jaw tightened. If they'd come up here when Murdock first demanded it...  
  
"Well, there's a few questions we have yet."  
  
The matron shrugged. "Well, you won't get any more answers out of him today than you did yesterday. We had to sedate him."  
  
"Why?" Murdock was definitely not happy. Sedated, this guy would be worthless to him, and Hannibal would never agree to stick around another day.  
  
"He attacked one of the orderlies yesterday, that's why. Broke the man's arm." She stopped abruptly and glared at him. "You people aren't planning on changing that transfer, are you? He's still going up to Fort Knox tomorrow, right?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, yeah. There's been no change there. No, ma'am."  
  
Shit! If this guy was being transferred tomorrow, that meant the MPs would be on their way already. Maybe even in town already. And when Hannibal heard about this latest debacle...  
  
Shit.  
  
The matron shook her head and continued up the hallway. They were on the second floor, and Murdock was getting more and more depressed. Cleary had told Hannibal he wouldn't send his dog to this place; Murdock wouldn't have sent his dead dog here. If he had his way, he'd open the doors and set all these poor bastards free. Anything had to be better than this.  
  
They stopped in front of a large wooden door, painted a dark green. She turned the handle, seemingly surprised that it wouldn't open. Shaking her head, she unlocked it with a huge key, and the door swung partway open. Murdock looked into the shadowed room and saw a man strapped to a bed, his pajama bottoms pulled down, completely exposed.  
  
"What the hell?!"  
  
The matron looked in. "Oh, that was that damn Eddie. Sorry about that, Mr Spidel. We've got a kid here does that to everyone who won't fight back. Don't worry, he's locked up now."  
  
"So you just left this man like this?"  
  
She bristled angrily. "I didn't, no. Must have been the orderlies. I suppose they were too busy to notice, getting Eddie out of here." She marched in and roughly yanked the pajamas into place. "There. Now you go ahead and see if you can wake him enough to answer your questions. Just shut the door tight when you leave; it'll lock by itself."  
  
Murdock nodded and stepped around her as she swept out of the room, leaving the door partway open. With a slight shudder, Murdock pulled his shoe off and wedged it between the door and frame. No way he was getting locked in here by accident.  
  
Straightening, he moved over to the bed. He wasn't at all hopeful. This guy hadn't reacted at all when the matron...  
  
He stopped dead. Stared. His heart started pounding as if it was going to burst out of his chest. He couldn't get his breath. He staggered back from the bed, looking at the door. He should call somebody. Get help. This guy...this guy...  
  
No. No, he couldn't tell anyone. Not here. Not here. Secret. Had to be a secret. He fumbled with his hat, his glasses, stepped toward the bed. Backed away.  
  
God, he had to tell Hannibal. He had to go back. Now. He needed Richter. He needed...Shit, he'd be locked up for good. God. Oh, God. He should've listened to Hannibal. He should've.  
  
Gone too far. He'd just gone too far. Thought he was strong enough to do this, but...now.  
  
Oh, God.  
  
He sank to his knees by the bed. Slowly, body shaking, he reached over. Gently, very gently, he raised one of the man's eyelids.  
  
Oh, God...  
  
*****  
  
"He'll be okay, Hannibal."  
  
Hannibal scowled. "You saying that because you believe it, or because you want to believe it?"  
  
BA shook his head, disgusted. Obviously, he didn't like this. They were sitting outside the hospital, just out of sight of the main door. Murdock had assured them that no one would notice him walk up to the door; they would notice the van sitting right out in front, with BA and Hannibal dressed the way they were. Hannibal had bowed to Murdock's 'superior knowledge'. That didn't mean he liked it any better than BA.  
  
Hannibal looked at his watch. Murdock had been gone exactly 27 minutes. Surely that was long enough to find out what he needed to know. Okay. So he'd have to get past the front desk. He must have done okay, because no cops had shown up. Then it was just a matter of being shown to this guy's room. How long could that take? He looked up at the monster of a building. Well, okay. So maybe a few more minutes. And maybe he'd had to wait for someone to actually take him.  
  
Then how long to try and talk to the guy? Five minutes? Ten? He should've been able to figure out if they'd get anything out of him in that time, surely. He should've been done by now.  
  
Unless the guy was willing to talk. Then they might be here for an hour. Maybe more. Could Murdock hold it together that long?  
  
Shit. Hannibal looked up at the building again. Nothing like sticking Murdock's head in the lion's mouth. He shook his head, disgusted. The last place he should send Murdock was a nut house. What if one of those doctors saw something? Recognized something?  
  
And what about the other patients? How would Murdock react to them? How would they react to Murdock?  
  
"Hey, here he comes."  
  
Something in BA's voice made Hannibal straighten up. Fast.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock stood slowly, pushing himself up from the bed. He felt ice cold and fire hot at the same time. His heart hadn't stopped it's pounding; he didn't even know if he was breathing. He couldn't stop looking at him. From the top of his head, down to his feet. His eyes stung as he saw the marks on his wrists and ankles, red and angry-looking from straining at the leather bindings. Skin gray with dirt, clothes stained with...  
  
He stepped back, slowly, shuffling toward the door. He had to get out of here. Had to get Hannibal.  
  
And BA.  
  
Definitely BA.  
  
He took one last, long look before he opened the door. He had to be sure. Absolutely sure.  
  
He was.  
  
He almost forgot to grab his shoe as he closed the door. He thought for a moment about leaving it open, just a little. Then he remembered Eddie. The way the orderlies had left...He closed the door quietly, but firmly. Made sure it locked.  
  
He hurried down the hall, noting how many doors he passed, the hallways he moved down, windows, stairwells, duty stations.  
  
Everything.  
  
He shook his head at the matron as he passed the front desk. She started to say something, but he ignored her. His focus was on the front door. Out of here. Away from here.  
  
For now.  
  
The door swung open and he forced himself to walk down the long steps. Once he hit the gravel of the drive, his pace picked up and he was almost running by the time he reached the van. He slammed the side door open, falling into his seat.  
  
The next thing he knew, the van was moving. He panicked, started shouting, crying. They couldn't leave! They had to go back.  
  
They couldn't leave him again...  
  
*****  
  
"Murdock..." Hannibal looked at BA, who just shook his head. He was scowling his worried-sick scowl, and Hannibal didn't blame him. Hannibal didn't think either of them had ever seen Murdock in this state before. Hysterical, or damn close to it. Words rushing out, tears, his body shaking like a point nine...  
  
"Murdock, c'mon, pal, take a deep breath. That's it, breath deep, slow. You have to calm down, okay, so we can understand what you're saying, okay? Deep...and slow..."  
  
He watched as Murdock, still with tears in his eyes, started breathing as he was told. Slowly the shaking quieted, though not disappearing completely. Finally, he nodded at Hannibal.  
  
Okay.  
  
"Now, I want you to start from the beginning. We aren't going anywhere, so don't worry about that. I want to hear what happened, Captain, concisely, professionally."  
  
"We have to go back, Colonel. We have to get Face out of there."  
  
Hannibal felt like he'd been gut-punched. He stepped back, staring at Murdock. He glanced at BA, but he'd turned away, slamming his fist into his palm.  
  
"Murdock...that wasn't Face. Face is dead."  
  
"No! No, we thought he was, but he's not, Hannibal, he's not, he's in there, he's up there on the second floor, behind that green door, and they let things happen to him, Hannibal, and they drugged him and strapped him down, and we gotta go get him, before they come get him, the Army..."  
  
"Captain!"  
  
Murdock stopped, took another deep breath, head down. "Colonel. Face is the guy in the hospital. He's alive. And the Army is going to take him to Fort Knox tomorrow. We have to get him out now."  
  
"Murdock, it can't be Face. He's..."  
  
"He's dead, yeah." Murdock glared at Hannibal. "And you know he's dead, right? So just walk away. Just like you did before. Don't bother finding out. Just leave him. Again!" Murdock shoved away from the van and stalked off.  
  
Hannibal stared at the ground, shaken. He was sure Murdock had completely lost it, but the words cut into him just the same. He felt a hand on his shoulder. BA.  
  
"Hannibal, you okay?"  
  
"Sure, BA. Murdock's gone off his nut and I was just reminded how I left a man to be tortured and killed, but other than that, I'm just peachy!"  
  
With his usual style, BA ignored the outburst and got right to the point. "We gotta check it out, Hannibal. You know it, as well as I do. If we don't, Murdock..."  
  
Hannibal sighed. God, he was so tired. "Yeah, BA, I know. Murdock will always think we left Face here, and he'd never forgive either one of us. But I don't think the three of us can just waltz in there demanding to see him." He looked at BA. "And what happens to Murdock when we prove it isn't Face? Will he see it? Or is he so far into this...mirage that he'll still think it's Face?"  
  
BA looked up at the sky. The clouds were slowly drifting away, leaving a clean, blue sky.  
  
"And what if it is Face?"  
  
"What? How could it be, BA? My God!" Hannibal paced a couple steps, turning back to BA. "Do you realize what you're saying? Jesus, the odds of that...you realize the kind of Rube Goldberg scenario you're talking about? There is just no way!"  
  
"I'm just sayin, Hannibal. What if it is?"  
  
Hannibal shook his head. Were they all going nuts? "All right, BA. What do you think we'd do? If it is Face, we pull him the hell out of there. Satisfied?"  
  
BA nodded, impassive. "Okay, so what's the plan?"


	14. Chapter 14

**October 8 1976**  
  
They stood in the shrubbery a few yards from the front door. It was obvious that most of the inhabitants would have been in bed for some time now, as it was just after eleven. They'd watched as the day shift left, replaced by a skeleton crew for the night. Hannibal had counted less than a dozen employees.  
  
"Okay, where was that exit you saw?"  
  
Murdock nodded to the side. "Should be right over there, by that alcove. I don't know if there's an alarm, though. I didn't see one." He was still wearing his disguise, claiming it had brought them good luck. BA had just shaken his head at that and tried to ignore it.  
  
"BA?"  
  
"Got it."  
  
BA moved quickly toward the exit, finding the door easily. Using his penlight, he ran the light around the door, seeing wires, but they were exposed and corroded. He signaled the others and began jimmying the lock. Moments later, he was easing it open, and the three men stepped quietly inside.  
  
They were in a short entryway, three garbage bins against one wall. They could see the front desk to the right of the door, the elevators behind it, and a stairwell to the left. At a nod from Hannibal, they slid around the corner and up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness.  
  
One light bulb lit each landing; otherwise, the stairs were completely dark. They moved cautiously up to the second floor and stopped.  
  
"Okay, Murdock. Where to?"  
  
"I gotta think. I came out of the elevator, not up the stairs." He looked down the hall, barely making the details. Nodded. "Follow me."  
  
They moved down the hall. Hannibal had the urge to cover his nose. They made two turns, moved down yet another short hallway; the damn place was a labyrinth. Murdock suddenly stopped.  
  
"There's a duty nurse up ahead. Face's room is down the hall behind it. Two other hallways to the sides."  
  
Hannibal frowned. He did not like that reference to 'Face's room'. He hadn't thought to check Murdock's meds lately. He knew they'd had enough for this trip, but he hadn't thought about making sure Murdock was taking them. Damn. He wondered again what Murdock was going to do when they walked in and there sat some stranger.  
  
Or if Murdock would even see a stranger.  
  
He took a deep breath. They needed a diversion. A subtle one, something that could be repeated on the way out; if they ended up taking this guy with them, he didn't want a lot of fireworks.  
  
He looked down at his jacket. The thick wooden buttons. He yanked one off, nodded at the others, and tossed it as far as he could down the side hall. It hit the wall with a satisfying plunk, and rattled on the floor, loud in the night silence.  
  
The duty nurse looked up, puzzled. She stood, coming around the desk and looking down the hall. Hannibal smiled as she walked away from the desk, checking doors.  
  
The three men waited until she had moved down several doors before hurrying past her desk.  
  
The room with the green door was midway down the hall. BA quickly started working on the lock while the others kept an eye on the desk. Just as the lock clicked open, the nurse came back to her desk, never looking in their direction. They slipped hurriedly inside.  
  
*****

Murdock grabbed the door before BA could close it completely, again slipping off his shoe to brace it open just a hair. The two men turned to see Hannibal, standing by the bed. Eyes closed, one hand holding on to the bed frame, the other slowly rubbing his temple. He was slowly muttering, "Damn, damn, damn!"  
  
Hannibal abruptly reached down for the restraints, but BA stepped over, taking his hands, stopping him. Hannibal was too angry. Too desperate.  
  
"Why don't you go watch the door, Hannibal? Keep an eye on that nurse."  
  
The colonel wanted to argue, BA could tell. But then he just nodded. As he moved away from the bed, BA thought he heard him say, 'Sorry.' He didn't know if Hannibal was talking to BA, or Face. He did notice that Hannibal hadn't looked at Face again.  
  
BA stood for a moment, eyes closed, and then started undoing the restraints. He didn't say anything, but in his head, he was using language his mother would wash his mouth out for. He didn't understand how people could do this to others. War, that was bad enough. But these people were supposed to help.  
  
Not do this.  
  
The buckle was stiff, and it jerked a bit as it came undone. There was a small groan, more like a sigh. BA looked up, but Face's eyes were still closed. He looked at him for a moment longer, then spoke softly.  
  
"It's okay, LT. We gonna have you outta here real soon."  
  
There was no response.  
  
Sighing, he went to work on the next buckle, the one holding the belt across his chest. There was another at his waist, the other wrist, both ankles. Murdock said he'd broken an orderly's arm. That's why the restraints, the drugs. BA smiled softly.  
  
Way to go, LT.  
  
The buckle came loose, and Face twisted a little. Three sets of eyes watched warily.  
  
"Tol ya, Face. We gonna be done here in no time." Face seemed to relax. BA was sure of it.  
  
Hannibal looked out the door, then stepped into the room, nudging aside a plastic bag with Hanson's name printed on it. BA noticed he didn't get too close to the bed.  
  
"Can you hurry it up, BA? If he starts coming to, or that nurse does a bed check..."  
  
BA just glared at him before going back to work.  
  
Murdock stood at the head of the bed, leaning against the wall, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Once Hannibal had seen Face, had to admit that it was Face, Murdock had gotten very calm. Like his job was done, and now it was up to Hannibal and BA to get them all out in one piece.  
  
Or maybe he just knew he needed to step back, get his own head back on straight. BA had had to. He'd been open to the chance it really was Face, just because Murdock was so damn sure. Still...  
  
BA had one more to go when Hannibal stepped suddenly back from the door. He pushed Murdock's shoe out of the way, letting the door close but holding the handle so it didn't latch. BA and Murdock immediately stepped over to the wall behind the door. Hopefully, the nurse would only try the handle, make sure it was locked, and not come in.  
  
BA sighed as they all heard the key in the lock. Hannibal shook his head, running his finger across his neck, and stepped back.  
  
The door swung open, and the nurse took a couple steps into the room before she saw the restraints.  
  
"What the..."  
  
She didn't have time to say any more. BA's hand went over her mouth, his arm around her waist. She tried to scream, but nothing came out other than a muffled moan.  
  
"Shhh. You don't want to make no more noise, lady. I mean that."  
  
Eyes wide, she nodded. BA held on to her while Hannibal hurried out. He returned a moment later with a roll of medical tape. He ripped off a section and placed it over the unfortunate woman's mouth. Tossing the tape to Murdock, he took her arm and pulled her, none too gently off to the side. BA had never seen him that rough with a woman, but he said nothing. She knew what was going on and hadn't done anything about it. He couldn't feel too sorry for her.  
  
"Okay, BA, let's get this finished."  
  
Murdock disappeared from the room, coming back just as BA finished, pushing a wheelchair. Hannibal nodded in approval, and Murdock and BA got Face situated in it as gently as they could. Hannibal pulled the woman over to the filthy bed and sat her down, hard. He made no bones about putting the restraints on her wrists, keeping her hands far apart.  
  
He smiled at her, grabbing 'Hanson's' bag as they walked out. "Have a nice night."  
  
He headed directly for the elevator, pulling his jacket off as they walked and draping it over Face.  
  
"Hannibal?"  
  
"We're not taking him down those stairs. We're going out the front door."  
  
BA shook his head, and Murdock grinned. But into the elevator they went, and when it opened, pushed full steam ahead into the lobby. The night clerk, a muscular looking guy, came rushing around the corner of the desk, to be met full on by BA's fist. They hurried down the steps in front, BA gripping the back of the wheelchair while Hannibal and Murdock held up the front.  
  
Moments later, Face was half-laying, half-sitting on the back bench of the van, Murdock holding on for dear life, as the van raced down the driveway.  
  
Hannibal turned to look at his guys, grinning with the old familiar jazz. Murdock regarded him with an uncertain smile before looking back down at Face. Hannibal's grin faded, and he turned soberly back to the front.  
  
"Take Route 43, BA. We've got a long ride ahead."  
  
He sounded as weary as he looked.  
  
*****  
  
They headed almost straight south. Why, BA didn't know, didn't ask. His only concern was getting as far from that hospital as possible. He kept to the speed limit, stayed on secondary roads, took side roads to stay out of any towns.  
  
Invisible.  
  
They made one stop, at a small, dirt water town some twenty miles from the hospital. The kind that rolled up the sidewalks after dark. BA pulled up a block away from the back entrance to the general store. While Murdock stayed with Face, now wrapped in blankets to try to stop the incessant shaking, Hannibal and BA made their way to the back of the store.  
  
BA took one look at the padlock and moved to the window next to the door. He grabbed a piece of metal from the alley, and in a moment had slipped the old-fashioned catch. The window opened with some protest, but enough so both men could climb through. Hannibal closed the window carefully, in case local law enforcement should drive by.  
  
They stayed away from the large front windows as much as possible, using penlights for the back portion of the store. They grabbed a few cans of foodstuffs, mostly soups. Mainly they searched the medical supplies. Ointments, gauze, aspirin, anything else they thought they might need. Hannibal practically laughed out loud when they discovered the store also carried clothing, though limited. Three pairs of men's pajamas, some sweatpants, and shirts. Hannibal also grabbed a large box of cigars. They did a quick estimate and left money to cover their 'purchases' on the counter.  
  
Hannibal climbed out of the window, and BA handed out the bags of supplies before climbing out himself and pulling the window shut. Five minutes later they were again on the road.  
  
At around four that morning, after driving for over three solid hours, the van pulled into a large motel on the very edge of Mobile. BA ducked into the back with Face while Hannibal explained to the manager that he and his nephew had been traveling non-stop for the last three days, and wanted a room that would let them sleep undisturbed. After noting their license plate on his forms, the manager made small talk about California weather as he got them signed in.  
  
Hannibal smiled as they pulled up in front of their room. In the manager's mind, they were now established as two tourists just arrived from sunny California.  
  
Perfect.  
  
**October 9 1976 - 1 Day**  
  
Major Longway was not happy. At all. This whole case had been a burr in his side since the beginning, and this morning, things had gotten decidedly worse.  
  
He'd sent four MPs down to that nut house to pick up their new prisoner. A prisoner Longway wasn't convinced was really theirs, but his voice was lost in the politics. All going back to Sergeant Kyle Hanson having been captured and held in a country he wasn't supposed to be in.  
  
Shit.  
  
Now, even the simple chore of picking up this imposter had turned into a fucking circus. He'd gotten the call - three men had broken into the hospital and kidnapped the guy. Kidnapped! Assaulted a couple of the employees along the way.  
  
Longway didn't understand why anyone would kidnap a guy that no one knew, and to his mind, that meant the real target had been Hanson. So either these guys still thought the wacko was Hanson, or they figured he knew what had happened to him.  
  
So what did these guys want with Hanson?  
  
He looked at the sketchy reports he'd gotten from his men. At least they had a description of the kidnappers. Older white male, dark-haired, seemed to be in charge. Younger black male, muscular. Another younger man, white, mustache and glasses. All 'obvious military types', according to the witnesses. And around here, they'd know.  
  
Longway sat back in his chair. Three men. Military types. Connected somehow to Kyle Hanson.  
  
"Captain!"  
  
His XO came hurrying into his office.  
  
"Get a list of every goddamned soldier Kyle Hanson served with or associated with, from boot camp right up to discharge. Look for anyone matching the descriptions of these three hot shots. Crosscheck that list with any open cases we've got as well. Start from the discharge and work your way back. And Captain, when I say 'every', I mean exactly that."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal had ordered BA to bed as soon as they got Face settled in the room, and the man didn't argue. All the driving he'd been doing the last couple of days, last night's adventures, and, despite his stoic demeanor, the stress of finding Face...he was weaving as he headed for the other bed.  
  
Murdock knew he was next for those orders, just as he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He was way too wound up. Hannibal surprised him by handing him the bag with the medical supplies, and suggested, quietly, that they get to work before Face woke up too much.  
  
Not that Murdock expected that to happen very soon. The hospital had obviously shot him into oblivion over the last day or so. From what he'd seen of the other patients, it was standard practice to keep pretty much everyone...manageable. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to relax.  
  
Hannibal was carefully sitting Face up now, and Murdock helped him get the pajama top off. Face's chest and stomach each had a raw band across them from fighting the restraints, and the start of bedsores on his back. Murdock didn't think Hannibal could ignore the old scars any more than he could. Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment but that was the only outward reaction. Murdock wished he still had that calm detachment. Sometimes. Being able to put aside the emotions, just do the job. It had been easy, in Nam, knowing that you had to.  
  
At first, anyway. Until...  
  
He realized Hannibal was looking at him, waiting. He smiled, apologetically, and wrung out the washcloth before handing it to him. Hannibal started at the top, cradling Face against his shoulder as he worked his way methodically down, gently cleaning off the accumulated grime. Murdock knew he was just trying to make Face more comfortable, not be that thorough. He once again felt that twinge of anger at the hospital staff. And looking at the scars, faded as most of them were, he felt ashamed.  
  
Hannibal snapped his fingers, impatiently, and Murdock snapped out of his thoughts. Detachment. Distance. Concentrate on the job at hand. He squeezed some ointment on Hannibal's fingers, watched as it was spread, oh so lightly, over the abrasions, then covered with gauze. He quickly grabbed the new pajama top, and between them, they soon had Face in the soft, warm fabric. Murdock smiled softly when he noticed the shaking was already lessening.  
  
The smile dropped like a rock when they began removing the pajama bottoms. Face was definitely more conscious than before. He couldn't exactly fight them off, but his distress was obvious. Hannibal seemed dubious, almost embarrassed, but Murdock knew. Eddie. He hadn't told Hannibal or BA about that yet, not in detail. And he wasn't sure he would. Seeing him that way - Face would never want anyone to have seen that. Or know what had happened. Holding Face, trying unsuccessfully to calm him, Murdock grimaced. At some point, he would have to get Face to talk about it. Something like that could screw him up for a long time.  
  
Hannibal finished the cleanup in record time, and finally Face was dressed and resting under the covers, the sores cleaned, covered in ointment and wrapped in gauze. Murdock suddenly felt his own exhaustion hit. But it was a good exhaustion.  
  
Face was home.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal watched as his men slept. He noticed, not without concern, that when Murdock had lain on top of the bed next to Face, there had been the same reaction as before - not quite panic, but damn close to it. He hadn't wanted to interfere before when Murdock was trying to calm him down, but he'd seen it was only making things worse. It had made him hurry even more.  
  
He took one more glance around the room before stepping out, softly closing the door and making sure it locked. He knew both BA and Murdock would wake immediately if Face started stirring. He'd left a note, telling them he had a couple errands to run.  
  
He took the van, and drove carefully through the streets of suburban Mobile, moving away from the city, toward the Army base. By the time he parked the van, in almost the same spot they had parked before, the base was awake and active. He walked deliberately over to the phone booth on the corner.  
  
He waited patiently as he worked his way through the base telephone system. He was making plans already for the trip back to LA. But he had to do it right. He wasn't blind to the problems ahead, and that's why this little errand. He had to know what to expect, how to deal with it. No more fuck-ups.  
  
That was essential.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello, Dr Cleary? This is Ronald Hanson."  
  
"Is it now? I've seen the news, Mr, uh, Hanson."  
  
"Ah, well, that's good. Saves a lot of explanations."  
  
"What do you want, Mr...what the hell do I call you?"  
  
"Ron will work for now. That's not important. What is important is your patient."  
  
"Whoever he is."  
  
"That doesn't matter, either, does it? You know the man. Names are..."  
  
"Inconsequential. Is he all right?"  
  
"At this point, he's still under the spell of the hospital's magic drugs. What happens when that wears off is why I'm calling."  
  
He heard a long sigh over the phone line. Silence.  
  
"Dr Cleary?"  
  
"This isn't something to discuss over the phone. Is there someplace we can meet?"  
  
Hannibal smiled. Exactly what he had in mind.  
  
"Yeah, doc. Let me give you directions."  
  
Some fifteen minutes later, a dark Chevy pulled out of the gate. Hannibal followed in the van. He'd found the perfect spot to waylay the doctor on his way to their "meeting". He felt bad, kidnapping a man who only wanted to help, but he wasn't taking any chances. He couldn't be sure the MPs wouldn't be racing ahead to their rendezvous. And it wasn't as if the good doctor would be under any threat or danger. Nor would he be gone that long.  
  
Just long enough to discuss things privately. And thoroughly.  
  
*****  
  
"I think we may have found something, Major, but it's tenuous."  
  
Longway looked up from his desk, impatient. "Well, let's have it."  
  
The captain laid a folder on his desk. "As you know, Sir, Sergeant Hanson was in a POW camp, along with two other prisoners. At least for a while. One of them was a Captain Arnhold and the other was identified as a Lieutenant Peck." The captain cleared his throat. "The lieutenant was apparently captured after he took part in the robbery of the Bank of Hanoi. He died during an escape attempt with Hanson and Arnhold."  
  
Longway sat up straight. He wasn't sure if he was happy or not with the direction this was going.  
  
"The other personnel involved in the robbery were Colonel Smith and Sergeants Baracus and Parish."  
  
"I know who they were, Captain. And I know they escaped." He stared at the wall, absently tapping on the desk. "The descriptions don't quite match. You're aware of that."  
  
"Well, begging your pardon, Sir, but that could be explained. Colonel Smith could've colored his hair, as a disguise. And it doesn't take long to grow a mustache, or use a fake one."  
  
"So you honestly believe that Hannibal Smith and his men would go to all this trouble, just because Sergeant Hanson was in the same POW camp as his lieutenant?"  
  
The captain hesitated. "It just seemed a little too coincidental, Sir."  
  
Longway sat silently. It was too coincidental. And it was the type of connection he'd been looking for. But what could they possibly want Hanson so badly for? That's what didn't make any sense. He knew vets liked to exchange stories, but most preferred to forget experiences like that. Hanson was definitely not into discussing it. If they were looking for information, they'd gone to the wrong source. But what else was there?  
  
Did they know this guy they kidnapped wasn't Hanson?  
  
He frowned. Too coincidental. Too...bizarre. There was something he was missing. Something...  
  
"Captain, I want the full dossier on Peck. Including the autopsy report."


	15. Chapter 15

**October 9 1976 - 1 Day**  
  
They drove down several side roads before Hannibal pulled over into a small grove of trees and shut off the engine. Things with Dr Cleary had not gone the way Hannibal had expected, almost from the start. Granted, he knew the doctor wouldn't be any too happy about having his car forced off the road, or having to go with Hannibal in the van. But he proved decidedly stubborn in wanting to conduct this 'interview' in his own way rather than Hannibal's.  
  
"So what is his name? Or am I not allowed to know that?"  
  
Hannibal hesitated. Would the Army find out sooner, or later? Ever? All depended on who was put on the case. Someone like Lynch would never figure it out, would focus on the team, ignore Face as just another one of the fleeting strangers they'd helped out on occasion.  
  
Someone with brains would follow the path of logic, discover that the dead had risen. Again, how long they had before that happened...  
  
"We called him 'Face'."  
  
Cleary nodded, knowing full well a nickname would be all he'd get. "Very well. So what proof do I get that 'Face' is really the former Kyle Hanson?"  
  
Cleary dismissed the curtly given physical description. It could, after all, fit any of thousands of blonde, blue-eyed men in their twenties.  
  
Hannibal thought, for a moment forgetting the man they'd hauled out of the hospital. Remembering instead the lieutenant under his command. The quick-witted soldier, the conjurer of supplies, skirter of truths...  
  
Hannibal doubted Cleary would recognize any of those men.  
  
"He has a scar on his shoulder. Big. C-shaped."  
  
Cleary sat still for a moment, then sighed. "Yes, I remember that. I tried to get him to tell me about it, but his reaction was...less than pleasant. One of the few times words alone seemed to get him riled up"  
  
"Riled up?"  
  
"He threw a chair through my window." Cleary pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and absently lit one. "In hindsight, I realized I pushed him too hard on that. He's got a lot of anger hiding inside." He glanced over at Hannibal. "Something to bear in mind."  
  
So Cleary had, at least, seen that side. The cold-blooded anger. But what else had he discovered? Hannibal needed to know the difference between the man in the hospital and the man he knew.  
  
But Cleary was still in charge and wanted to know about Kyle's physical condition, and then everything Hannibal knew about his life over that last year. Hannibal protested, claiming he didn't have time for that, but Cleary insisted. He had to know before he could even guess at what might lie ahead.  
  
Unhappily, Hannibal conceded the point and gave him a fast summary of what Jenny had told them, what had happened after the team's arrival. Cleary wasn't satisfied with that. He wanted details.  
  
Hannibal, for some reason, wasn't comfortable with that.  
  
It had been one thing to listen to Jenny talking about Kyle. He remembered his response to the tactics used against the local yokels. Admiration. Pride. Knowing it was Face didn't change that, possibly enhanced it. But the other things...  
  
"Ron?" Cleary said the name with an acerbic touch of irony. "I need to know..."  
  
*****  
  
BA had awakened as soon as the door closed. He stared at it for a moment, but only a moment, and then was up. He heard the van drive away, and a quick glance told him Hannibal was the culprit. He shook his head, reading the note.  
  
Errands. Right.  
  
Hannibal might seem hard, cold, even, but he did what was necessary for his men. As soon as BA had seen the signs for Mobile, he knew what the colonel had in mind. He should've realized he wouldn't want anyone else with him. Hannibal would want answers now. Answers he hadn't gotten from that report. Answers that, like the report itself, he didn't want the others to know. Not yet, anyway.  
  
BA was pretty sure he didn't want to know at all.  
  
He turned at the stirring from the bed. Murdock was still asleep, curled up on top of the covers. Didn't surprise BA that he hadn't awakened when Hannibal left. Worn out, body and soul. That doc out in LA was going to have his hands full when Murdock got back, BA knew that for sure.  
  
Then he looked at Face. He wasn't awake, not by a long shot, but he was moving a bit. Twitching. BA looked long and hard at him. He could see he'd been cleaned up a bit, and was glad of that. He frowned at the marks around his neck, still deep reddish purple.  
  
He seemed to remember the LT was Catholic. Not that he'd paid much attention. He shifted uncomfortably. Lot of things he hadn't paid attention to. But he thought he'd seen Face go to Mass every now and then. Yeah. Not often, but after a close one, he'd gone. And BA did know how those folks felt about suicide.  
  
What made you do it now, Face? After everything you musta gone through...  
  
Again, BA pushed himself away from those thoughts. Didn't want to think about that. About what the LT had gone through. Because of Wiley.  
  
He moved quietly away from the door, and into the small kitchenette. He looked at the canned goods they'd brought along, found a can of broth and pulled the bread out of the bag. They could send Murdock out for something for them, but Face would probably need something easy on the stomach. He remembered how sick Wiley had been, after the chemo...  
  
He gripped the can of broth tightly. He thought he'd put this all behind him. The feelings of betrayal. The disappointment. The anger. As long as they were just looking for Kyle Hanson, he'd been able to continue hiding that away. Now...  
  
Every time he looked at Face, the memories of those many months in Nam, always with Wiley at his side, slammed into him like a brick wall.  
  
Wiley, his best friend.  
  
And Face.  
  
The man he hadn't even liked.  
  
*****  
  
Cleary hadn't said anything for some time, and Hannibal, already feeling strangely irritated, was getting impatient. He looked pointedly at his watch. Cleary took the hint.  
  
"What was he like before? When he was under your command?"  
  
Hannibal thought a moment, then chuckled without mirth. "I quoted Mark Twain to him once. 'The man who carries a cat by the tail learns something that can be learned in no other way'. Turns out I should've heeded my own warning."  
  
"Troublemaker?" Cleary sounded a bit surprised.  
  
"Not in the usual sense. He made a habit of 'enhancing' his lifestyle through what he called business deals. Never really willing to give out his 'trade secrets', either. I guess that's why we never really..." Hannibal stopped.  
  
"Never really what?"  
  
Hannibal sighed. "We never really trusted him. Out in the boonies, yeah. He was a damn good soldier. We never had to worry about him covering our asses. And he was the best supply officer a man could ask for."  
  
"But...?"  
  
"But what does that have to do with the here and now, Doc? I need to know what to expect from him, how to handle it. Can I get the kid back on track, or are we just looking for a place to keep him out of more trouble?"  
  
"If you and your men are the ones now 'in charge', I need to know what your relationship was with him. I need to know, 'Ron', why you didn't trust him. But I also need to know - did he trust you?"  
  
Hannibal stared ahead, through the windshield.  
  
"I think he wanted to..."  
  
*****  
  
Murdock woke slowly, groggily seeing first the ceiling above him, then gradually shifting his view to take in the room. It didn't look at all like his room, and he knew damn well he hadn't left the radio on. He sat up, taking in the rest of the room. Not until he saw BA, slouched in front of the television, sound asleep, that he remembered where he was. The radio was actually the low voices from the set. Then he saw Face and realized what had awakened him.  
  
Though clumsy and uncoordinated, Face was desperately pulling at the bandages on his wrists. Murdock slid quickly off the bed and knelt beside Face. His eyes were open but dull and distant. Murdock wasn't sure he was even aware of what he was doing.  
  
"Face, calm down. Gotta leave those alone, buddy. C'mon, Face." Murdock grabbed Face's hands, trying to stop any more damage, but immediately Face started struggling harder, trying to shove Murdock away.  
  
"BA!"  
  
BA jumped like he'd been shot, stumbling over to the bed. But instead of helping, he pulled Murdock away.  
  
"Dammit, BA, he's trying to pull those bandages off!"  
  
"Jus shuddup and get outta the way!" BA took his place by the bed, where Face was again fumbling at his wrists, breathing hard. "Hey, Face, you don't have to do that, man. You're free, Face. You're free. You're free..."  
  
BA kept repeating his words, soft and low, like a mantra, and gradually, Face's frantic movements slowed. BA kept talking, and the harsh breathing calmed, his hands relaxed, dropping to the bed, and his eyes closed. Another minute and he was completely asleep once more.  
  
Murdock, kneeling where he'd landed when BA pulled him away, hung his head for a moment before looking up at BA.  
  
"I fucked up again, didn't I?"  
  
BA just shrugged. "I had time to think about things, while you was asleep. He got those marks tryin to get loose; figures he'd think he was still trussed up, so..."  
  
"Think we should try and fix that up again?" Murdock indicated the one wrist with the bit of gauze that hung over the side of the bed.  
  
"No. Not now, anyway. Just cause more problems than anythin."  
  
Murdock nodded, and allowed BA to pull him to his feet before plopping down in the chair BA had been sleeping in. He gazed blankly at the screen as BA stepped over to the window and glanced at the parking lot. Hannibal had been gone well over two hours now.  
  
"I did fuck up, BA."  
  
"Huh? Whaddya mean? He didn't do no real damage..."  
  
"No. Before. Back...there."  
  
BA looked over at him, confusion clearly showing on his face. "What are you talkin about, man?"  
  
"When I went to get Arnhold. He wanted to go back for...the body. And I wouldn't. Said it was too dangerous. But if I had, we'd have known Face hadn't died there. And we woulda known he was close. I could've saved him months of..." Murdock looked bleakly up at BA. "I could've saved him from this."  
  
"That's just crazy, Fool." BA almost spat in disgust. "Even if you'd gone back, there's no sayin anybody woulda gone lookin for him. Or found him. Hell, man, you know well as I do what Laos was like. He coulda been two feet from you and you wouldn't'a seen him." BA shook his head. "That's just crazy."  
  
"But I could've tried!"  
  
"So could we! But we didn't. And we all had damn good reasons not to. We coulda gone lookin and ended up caught jus like he was. And what good would that'a done, huh? What good woulda come of that?"  
  
BA pointedly turned back to the window, his shoulders tense and stiff. Murdock looked at him for a moment, then turned toward the bed. Face was twitching again, disturbed by the raised voices. The pilot crept over to the side of the bed, sitting on the floor beside it.  
  
"At least he wouldn't have been alone..."  
  
*****  
  
The van was stopped by the side of the road. Up ahead, near the doctor's car, they could see the flashing lights of at least two patrol cars.  
  
"I'll walk from here. I'll tell them I lost control of the car, then went looking for a phone."  
  
"I'd appreciate that, Doc."  
  
"It's not for your benefit. I just happen to think that you're the lesser of two evils where Kyle is concerned."  
  
Kyle. They'd fallen into calling him that again. For Cleary, it was just natural; Hannibal felt somehow more comfortable with it.  
  
Cleary opened the door and stepped out, then leaned in, glaring at Hannibal. "Don't try to be a hero, Ron. Don't let guilt lead the way. If you can't handle him, contact me. Like I told you, I know of some good hospitals out west that can deal with his type of problem. Between us, we should be able to figure out a way of getting him into one. I really wish you'd consider that option more...honestly."  
  
Hannibal regretfully shook his head. They'd argued this point already. Once the Army learned who Face really was, no hospital in the country would be safe. They'd track him down, if only to make up for the rest of the team getting away. And no way Hannibal would let him end up in Leavenworth's psych ward.  
  
Cleary had stepped away, and Hannibal pulled a sharp U-turn, heading away from the patrol cars. He'd have to take a different route back to the hotel. He didn't think the locals would put two and two together, but he would be cautious, just the same. He worried a bit about the length of time he'd already been gone, but he had some things to consider before he was ready to talk to BA and Murdock.  
  
For one thing, he'd already made the decision to keep Face with them. He knew it was his only choice, but what the other two would think was something else. Murdock, of course, was basically out of the equation. Not only because he was stuck in the VA, but because there was a reason he was stuck there. A man who was finally getting a handle on his own problems didn't need to be around someone who hadn't even started.  
  
That left BA, and Hannibal knew he was going to be a tough nut to crack. While BA didn't dispute that Murdock had problems, he was less than patient with them, and definitely didn't like dealing with them on a day to day basis. This trip had proven that on more than one occasion. The almost constant idiosyncrasies drove BA up a wall, and he made no bones about it. Murdock was at a stage where he could deal with that.  
  
Face wasn't. And from what Cleary had told him, any attempts to interfere with his 'habits' led to massive blowups. If that were to happen with BA, it would definitely not be pretty.  
  
Would Hannibal be able to convince BA that his decision was for the best? That BA would have to learn patience? Would Murdock accept that his part in this was over, that for his own good he couldn't be involved until much later? If at all?  
  
Which brought up the major problem. How long would they be taking care of Face? How long before he was to a point where he could function normally? Even semi-normally? What if he never got to that point?  
  
And just how would they take care of him? Not just his head problems. That was something they would have to deal with a day at a time, trying to get him to trust, open up, accept what had happened and then put it behind him. But in the meantime, they had to earn a living. What did they do with Face when Hannibal was on the set, or BA at the daycare center? They couldn't very well take him along. And with his habit of taking off, seeking, or at least, finding trouble, there was no way they could leave him alone.  
  
BA would never agree to this. Not without knowing what Hannibal knew. Once he read Cleary's report, once he knew...  
  
Hannibal pulled the van to the side of the road and rubbed his hands over his eyes before staring bleakly through the windshield. No way he could show that report to BA. Definitely not to Murdock. Face would be horrified to think they knew what he'd been like when he showed up at the Embassy. And after. Hell, the man hadn't wanted them to know about the orphanage, or Dao Quy...no way he could live with the pity that report would generate.  
  
Somehow, Hannibal had to convince them of the wisdom of his decision without that report, without giving them all the facts.  
  
If he couldn't, he would have to deal with Face on his own. He started the van and pulled out into traffic, heading for the motel.  
  
One way or the other, he would not leave Face behind again.  
  
*****  
  
"He's back." Murdock moved from the window to the door, opening it just as Hannibal reached for the knob.  
  
BA moved back, out of sight of the door. He took one look at Hannibal's face and started grumbling, "Man's runnin all over hell when he can't even see straight..."  
  
"I just need a couple hours sleep. How's Face?"  
  
"He tried to pull off the bandages, but BA got him settled down again. Otherwise, he's been pretty quiet." Murdock didn't mention the argument that had disturbed him. "I think he's starting to wake up, but it's slow."  
  
Hannibal nodded. "Yeah, the doc said to expect that. And he's probably going to be pretty confused when he does come to, so we'll have to careful not to confuse him any more." Hannibal sighed, knowing a report was expected, and too tired to care. "I'm going to take a nap. If he comes to, wake me, otherwise, holler when lunch is ready."  
  
Murdock and BA looked at each other as Hannibal proceeded to lie down on the other bed, ignoring them. BA shook his head and plopped down in front of the television set. Murdock scowled, sliding down the wall to the floor.  
  
More waiting was not what he was expecting. And it wasn't what he got.  
  
Hannibal's entrance, while quiet, hadn't been quiet enough.  
  
*****  
  
The brief flash of light woke him immediately. He lay still, though, not wanting to let Harry know he'd seen it. Slowly he opened his eyes and, still without moving, looked around. He could see one guard sitting a few feet from him, another a few feet further yet. Neither was paying attention to him. Not yet.  
  
He looked to the other side. Someone was asleep on the other bed. For a moment he was confused until he realized he, too, was on a bed. Then it all made sense. It also made it more dangerous. Barry was a nice kid, but clumsy. He'd have to be extra careful if he was to get them both out without the sisters knowing.  
  
He kept his eyes almost closed, open only enough to keep an eye on the guards, and slowly started moving toward the edge of the bed. It was frustrating, as his body didn't seem to want to move where he wanted it to go. And he kept having to stop, pretend to still be asleep, when the guards looked his way.  
  
If only Barry weren't here. It would be so easy then. Let the gooks see him - he'd learned his lesson. Look what he'd done to those rednecks. And he wasn't even trying. For a moment he was tempted. He could take out one before they even knew what had happened. The one thing he hadn't done, had held back from, because of Jenny. But she wasn't here now. He didn't have to hold back. He could kill them all and no one would blame him.  
  
He glanced over at the other bed. Kyle was still asleep. Kyle would blame him. Face had already let him down, let him die over there. After all Kyle had done to save him, Face had betrayed him.  
  
Just like the colonel.  
  
His foot hit the ground and he sat up, slowly, his body still not working the way it should. He stood, grasping the rocks, pushing himself up, swaying. He looked at the guards, stepping toward him now. He looked around, quickly, looking for a weapon. Grabbed the lamp, surprisingly heavy, holding it up, ready to throw. Threw a glance at Barry, who was finally waking up. He had to protect him. He wouldn't let another one die.  
  
He felt himself swaying again. His damn body, betraying him. He should be stronger than this. Should've been. Should've fought them off. Never should have let Harry do that. Never.  
  
He looked at the orderlies, coming ever closer. Looked for Barry, but he was gone. Kyle was gone. They were all...all gone. Only more and more gooks, in their dirty white uniforms, coming at him, trying to confuse him, ready to stick that needle in him again, ready to...pretending to be his friends. He knew better. He wasn't stupid. Or weak. Not anymore.  
  
He straightened, pulling all the hatred together, using it, building it.  
  
They'd never touch him again...


	16. Chapter 16

**October 9 1976 - 1 Day**  
  
Hannibal closed his eyes, effectively curtailing any questions from BA and Murdock, but he didn't sleep. He couldn't. There were too many things running through his head, things he didn't want to talk about, think about, dwell on. He forced his thoughts elsewhere, to that place that always made him feel safe, calm. Back home, where his parents still lived, he and his brother were children, and nothing bad ever happened.  
  
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the first movements from the other bed.  
  
He almost got up then, but Face suddenly stopped, and Hannibal thought he'd gone back to sleep. He glanced over at BA, then Murdock. Both were also watching. After a moment, they turned away, and almost immediately Face started moving again, sidling toward the edge of the bed. Clumsy, slow, but determined.  
  
Now Hannibal's curiosity was aroused. Granted, he knew Face was still off in the netherworld someplace, but at the same time, he seemed to have a course of action in mind. This might be Hannibal's opportunity to see what his lieutenant was capable of, while he was still relatively safe to deal with.  
  
He watched, keeping his eyes nearly closed, as Face inched to the edge of the bed, and his foot fell to the floor. Hannibal glanced up, shaking his head ever so slightly at BA. Face waited a moment, and Hannibal could almost feel the tension as he gathered his strength. Then, with an effort that almost made Hannibal sweat, Face pulled himself up to a sitting position, both feet now on the floor. His hand reached out, grabbing the corner of the bureau by the bed. It took him almost a full minute before he could stand, swaying dangerously. Hannibal got ready to jump up and catch him, but he steadied himself. Hannibal glanced at the hand on the bureau. The knuckles were white.  
  
BA and Murdock were both standing now, watching him, but still keeping back. Face looked around the room, his head nodding as if too heavy for him to control. His whole body was shaking now, and Face was glaring at the room in general. His arm swung around, and he grabbed the lamp from the bureau, knocking the shade off, holding it to the side like a bat.  
  
Hannibal decided it was time to call it quits. He cautiously sat up, moving toward the foot of the bed. He didn't want to get too close to that lamp or cause Face to panic. He nodded slowly at BA, and he and Murdock began moving in, just as slowly.  
  
Face looked at them, one by one, and suddenly drew himself up straight. His jaw tightened, and Hannibal stared as a look came over the man's face that he hadn't seen since Saigon.  
  
"Watch him, guys. Easy." Hannibal spoke softly, but Face turned his full glare on him. Hannibal looked him over. The shaking had gone to an occasional shudder now, and his breathing was controlled, if somewhat labored, eyes cold, hard. Again, his thoughts went to Saigon, the Marine beaten to death in that old building, and Hannibal mentally kicked himself; he should've stepped in sooner. There was nothing 'safe' about the man facing him.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Hannibal took a tentative step forward, keeping the others back with a motion of his hand. Face adjusted his grip on the lamp, still staring at him.  
  
"Face, put the lamp down, kid. You don't have to fight any of us. We're your friends, Face. You remember us. You remember me. Hannibal. We're not here to hurt you. Nobody's going to hurt you."  
  
Face's eyes flickered at Hannibal's name. He licked his lips, glancing over at the others. Hannibal took another small step forward. Face immediately turned back toward him, and there was the slightest stagger as he regained his balance.  
  
Calm. Hannibal had to keep things calm, quiet. Let the energy drain away. He didn't think it would take long. And he had to take advantage of that reaction to his name. Somewhere in that fog, Face recognized it. Would he recognize Hannibal? He thought suddenly of the dyed hair. Shit.  
  
He forced a soft chuckle. "The hair's kinda different, huh, kid? All in the line of duty." He stopped, watching Face's eyes narrow. Was he buying it? "Just a disguise, Face. We had to run a few scams to find you. But it's me, kid. Hannibal."  
  
The anger was fading, Hannibal could tell. Confusion taking over. And he was getting tired; the tremors were coming back.  
  
"Hannibal?"  
  
The voice was low, hoarse, questioning...suspicious. Hannibal knew he wasn't quite ready yet.  
  
"Yeah, kid. Hannibal. We're all here - Murdock and BA and me."  
  
Another questioning look, and a glance at the others. The tremors were rapidly increasing in intensity, and Face was getting pale. His forehead shone with sweat. The lamp dropped from his hand.  
  
"Hannibal?" Face looked around the room yet again, lost. "Where..."  
  
"We're in Alabama, at a motel. You're safe now, Face. You're with us."  
  
Face, all anger, all energy gone, fell heavily to his knees, grasping at the edge of the bed. Hannibal stepped quickly to his side. Face looked up at him, and Hannibal barely heard the soft words.  
  
"It can't be you...you never came..."  
  
Face slid down, falling against Hannibal as he passed into oblivion once more.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal sat in the chair by the television, the lamp, now moved to the top of the set, giving off a soft light. BA and Murdock were asleep on the second bed, although neither could be said to be sleeping soundly. The slightest move or sound from Face and both were sitting up, watching. Waiting.  
  
The day had dragged by. The room wasn't small, but with four men in it with nothing to do, it felt claustrophobic. They kept the television on, in case there were any news releases. Murdock found a deck of cards, and the three played a few absent-minded games of poker. Hannibal and Murdock were lucky; they were able to leave the room and not worry about being seen; BA just got more and more surly.  
  
There hadn't been another incident like that morning. Face had definitely been coming out of the fog, but more quietly. More and more frequently, he would move restlessly on the bed and mumble, though the words were slurred beyond recognition. The guys got used to that, only listening for anything that seemed too strident. By that evening, he had managed to sit up, propping himself against the wall behind the bed, dozing, not quite sleeping. He would open his eyes when any of them came near the bed. Watching them.  
  
BA saw it the first time. He stepped back from the bed, not quite startled, but...wary. Murdock looked up, concerned, as BA came back to the card table, shaking his head.  
  
"What's wrong? Is he okay?"  
  
"Huh? Yeah, yeah, he's...okay." BA glanced back at the bed.  
  
"Okay, BA, what's going on?" Hannibal hadn't gone back to bed, and his patience was at an all-time low. BA grimaced, and Hannibal was surprised to realize he was embarrassed. "BA?"  
  
"I dunno, Hannibal. He was lookin at me, watchin me, but...it was like he wasn't really lookin at anythin...here. I dunno." BA rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "It was just...spooky."  
  
Murdock frowned. "It's just the drugs, BA. Like before. He doesn't know where he is yet, that's all."  
  
"He ain't that drugged up now. This was somethin else. I tell you, it was..."  
  
"Yeah, BA, we know - spooky." Hannibal shook his head. "Look, we're all a little off our game here, okay? We have enough to worry about without..." he looked at BA's growing scowl, "without letting his confusion confuse us. And that's all it is - confusion. Another couple of days and he'll be..." Hannibal stopped. He'd almost said 'normal', but that didn't quite fit.  
  
"Yeah, right, Colonel." BA got up disgustedly and moved to the window, staring out at the parking lot, and grumbling to himself.  
  
By the time they'd decided to call it a day, they had all seen that 'look'. And he had to admit, it was spooky. He noticed even Murdock began checking on Face from a distance.  
  
Hannibal sighed, now staring at the unopened file on his lap. He'd waited until the others were asleep before taking it out. Everything they knew about Kyle - no, Face - was in this file. All the reports, and all the notes he had scrupulously written down after they had spoken to various people. He hadn't thought he would ever read this again. Never wanted to. But it was necessary now. He couldn't afford to have missed any little detail.  
  
Murdock had gotten takeout for their suppers. Both he and BA had tried to get Face to take some of the broth, but he'd just sat and stared at the bowl. Hannibal knew he had to be starving, but he wouldn't eat. Wouldn't even try, no matter how much they'd tried to coax him.  
  
Until Hannibal remembered. Rule number one in Chao's camp - you never touched your meal until the guards were gone. If you did, there was damn good chance they'd knock it out of your hands, just to be 'funny'. Maybe it had been the same where Face had been.  
  
Hannibal reheated the soup and told BA and Murdock to step away. He placed the bowl and tray on the bed and moved back, giving Face plenty of room. Face had looked uncertainly at them, then at the bowl. One more look in their direction and he'd reached for it, shakily bringing it up and drinking, ignoring the spoon on the tray. He carefully put the cup down, arm's length in front of him, and placed his hands flat on the bed, head down.  
  
Murdock solemnly went over to the bed and removed the tray. He looked at Face, still with his head down. Only when Murdock moved away did Face sit back, slumping against the wall once more. He'd taken one more look at the three of them, with a sudden moment of awareness. He wouldn't look at any of them after that.  
  
So now Hannibal prepared to reread the file. This time, he had to read about Face.  
  
**October 10 1976 - 2 Days**  
  
Longway was pacing the hall. He stopped long enough to finish the cold coffee and toss the paper cup into the now overflowing wastebasket. He'd been here for at least three hours now and his patience, never his long suit, was at an end.  
  
"How the hell can it take so long to verify a set of fingerprints?"  
  
"They've only had them a relatively short time, Sir." The captain spoke quietly, but it echoed in the empty hall. "And you did tell them you wanted to be certain."  
  
Longway didn't appreciate being reminded of his own orders, and the look he threw the unhappy captain stated that clearly. At the same time, he had to acknowledge that he wanted this ID perfect. If what he was thinking was true, he would need unquestionable confirmation before the brass would accept it. Glancing rather guiltily at the captain, he also had to acknowledge that he never would have considered this at all, if not for him.  
  
When Peck's file had finally arrived, late yesterday afternoon, the first thing Longway had looked for was the death certificate and autopsy report. That was the first time he knew that only a presumptive finding of death had been issued. He scrambled through the rest of the file. The PFOD had been issued based on a Sergeant Arnhold's report of the condition of both Hanson and Peck at the time he'd last seen them. By the time a search team got to the area, there wasn't enough left of the body for a solid ID.  
  
That was when Longway had ordered the fingerprints tested. It took some doing, as it had been late in the evening and the examiner had to be called from home. Then he had to round up another examiner to verify whatever the first one found.  
  
All the while, Colonel Smith and his band of outlaws were getting further and further away.  
  
The door to the examiner's office finally opened. Longway glanced at the clock. Three o'clock in the morning. No wonder everyone looked like shit.  
  
"Well?"  
  
The examiner stretched his back, taking off his glasses. Shook his head.  
  
"Damndest thing I ever heard of. You've got yourself a living, breathing dead man, Major."  
  
*****  
  
"Sergeant Hanson stated that the lieutenant would go ballistic when they'd bring women into the camp..."  
  
"His speech was difficult to understand, but I got used to it. He didn't talk much, anyway..."  
  
"...he'd been hung in the dry well..."  
  
"...in a hole in the ground, with a bamboo grate over it. It stunk pretty bad..."  
  
"...secured in a storage room..."  
  
"...after he attempted to leap through the window, he was restrained to the bed..."  
  
"...refused to wear hospital pajamas, and continually rammed the door and walls of his room, attempting to escape..."  
  
Hannibal pushed the file away. He felt physically sick to his stomach. His head ached. No, pounded like a sledgehammer. Thinking of how Jenny had described him when he first arrived. How he'd chosen to live, alone, on that island. And then trying to...hang himself...  
  
He felt light-headed. Cold. Remembering their talk with Ralph. Before any of them had known who Kyle really was. Before Ralph knew that Hannibal was the CO Kyle had spoken of. When Ralph had told them 'Kyle' was ashamed of what he'd done to survive.  
  
That he never wanted his colonel to know...  
  
Hannibal stood, suddenly, and stumbled into the bathroom, closing the door, forcing himself to be quiet. He locked the door, and sat on the edge of the tub, in the dark. He felt himself trembling, cold. So cold. The trembling got worse, and with every breath, he felt his stomach knot, and he tried, so hard, to control it, but nothing worked. Nothing, because all he could see was Face, his cocky, grinning, oh-so-sure-of-himself lieutenant, stumbling through the jungle, naked and filthy, reduced to an animal just trying to survive...  
  
Afraid Hannibal would find out...thinking Hannibal had abandoned him to that...  
  
Hannibal held his head, grasping his hair tightly, and in throbbing silence, sobbed.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock stepped quietly back from the bathroom door. He wanted to go in, talk to Hannibal, help him, but something told him there were some things better left alone. He moved back toward the bed, stopping to look at the file Hannibal had dropped on the floor. For a moment, he thought about picking it up, reading what had gotten Hannibal so screwed up.  
  
"Murdock! Whatcha doin now?" BA's hoarse whisper came from the dark.  
  
Murdock sighed. "Nothing, BA. Nothing."  
  
He climbed back into bed, staring at the file on the floor until he finally fell asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**October 10 1976 - 2 Days**  
  
Murdock woke up just as the sun was filtering through the curtains. He looked over at Face, sound asleep in the other bed, although still propped up against the wall. He looked behind him, relieved to see Hannibal asleep. Nothing worse than a CO who's strung out like he'd been last night.  
  
Murdock got out of bed, careful not to wake either man. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom, then smelled fresh coffee and headed for the kitchenette. He looked over toward the television, hoping that file would be out where he could get at it, but he really knew better. Hannibal had his methods. Depending on how things went with Face today, he'd probably have a team meeting later and then both Murdock and BA would have a chance to look over the file. They'd have to, to help Hannibal figure out where to go from here.  
  
He leaned against the counter, sipping at the hot coffee. Where did they go from here? Murdock certainly hadn't thought about that yet. He'd been focused on finding Kyle Hanson. He glanced at the floor. He still felt guilty about that. He really hadn't cared a fig about Hanson, or what their questions might do to him. Maybe because he knew Hannibal was looking out for him, in essence. But still, fellow soldier and all...  
  
But ever since he'd seen Face in that room...he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to remember that. He was glad, so glad, that Face had been out like a light. Maybe Face hadn't even known what that bastard had done. Okay, so the guy wasn't right in the head, but still...shit. Murdock had accepted now that at some point, he would have to tell Hannibal about that. One more thing they'd have to ask Face about, and oh, so carefully. He would just as soon have Hannibal deal with that. Preferably when Murdock was safely home at the VA.  
  
He was such a coward...  
  
He took another sip of coffee. Nothing like going off on a tangent; anything from thinking about the hard stuff. Like, where did they go from here? Murdock wouldn't kid himself; Hannibal would definitely make him go back to the VA, and no amount of arguing would change that. He couldn't pull the same kind of stunt he had to get back to that hospital. He'd just be running away from the people he wanted to stay close to. Not to mention, Hannibal still had to talk to him about that little bit of insubordination. He couldn't believe he'd actually done that. Nobody crossed the colonel.  
  
He smiled softly. Face sure came close. Almost like it was a game, to see how far he could push Hannibal, without going over the line. And Hannibal...Hannibal seemed to enjoy letting him do it. Like he was seeing what Face could come up with, if he would wiggle out of it, or if he could actually convince Hannibal to do things his way. Murdock loved to watch the two of them go at it.  
  
His smile faded. He loved to watch it, just like the others did, because they were all waiting for Face to get drop kicked by the colonel. Waiting for the sparkle in Hannibal's eye to turn to a spark. It hardly ever happened, but when it did...Face never backed down. Even when he had to do it Hannibal's way, he let him know he still didn't agree.  
  
Win or lose, Face never gave in. Neither did the colonel.  
  
Maybe that was the reason Hannibal always had Face's back, even if Face didn't realize it. And the reason Face admired Hannibal, even when they fought. Maybe that was why the rest of them were...jealous. He hated to admit it, but it was true. They were jealous of the way Face and Hannibal were together.  
  
Where did they go from here? Murdock sighed, looking over at Face on the one bed, Hannibal on the other. BA and Murdock had to keep Hannibal on track. Keep him from wearing himself too thin, like he had last night. That was their job now.  
  
Because without Hannibal, Face was lost.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal woke at the first moan, soft as it was. He squinted at the light coming through the window. He heard another moan and immediately was up, grabbing the wastebasket, scrambling for the other bed.  
  
Face was on his side, holding his stomach. Hannibal shook his head, glancing at BA and Murdock as they came hurrying over.  
  
"Bucket brigade, guys. Hope you haven't eaten yet..."  
  
*****  
  
Longway shifted in the chair, trying to contain his impatience as his CO continued to read through the pile of paperwork on his desk. Both men were frowning, one with irritation, the other with skepticism. Finally, Colonel Franklin shuffled the papers together and looked up.  
  
"You realize, of course, just how fantastic the whole thing appears. Even with the prints."  
  
"Yessir, but..."  
  
"Peck's miraculous resurrection is hard enough to swallow, but you've shown very well how it might have happened. But explain to me how in God's name Smith found him, and why they were even looking for him after all this time."  
  
Longway almost smiled. He'd had those same questions running through his head since the prints were finally verified. And he thought he had the answers.  
  
"I don't believe Smith was looking for the lieutenant. I think he was looking for Sergeant Hanson. Several people have made inquiries about the sergeant over the years - and that included the pilot from the Hanoi job."  
  
"The pilot was never considered part of that scheme."  
  
"Yessir, I know that. But he flew most of their missions - you don't forget or ignore someone like that, Sir. I believe Smith, Baracus, and Parish have kept in contact with Captain Murdock. And it was through that contact they found out about Sergeant Hanson - and the fact that Sergeant Hanson was supposedly the last American to see Peck alive."  
  
Colonel Franklin sat a little straighter, eyes narrowing. "Go on."  
  
"I think Smith went looking for Hanson because he knew it was their last and only hope of coming up with the money."  
  
Franklin's jaw dropped but he quickly recovered. "The money? What the hell...?"  
  
"Sir, none of the money from the robbery came out of the jungle with Smith."  
  
"Yeah, they claimed they burned it."  
  
"I don't believe they did. Lieutenant Peck was known to have a lot of contacts over there - on both sides of the DMZ. I think he was given the task of secreting that money before they even left North Vietnam. Once they returned stateside, and a sufficient amount of time had elapsed, Peck would retrieve the money, again through his contacts, and they'd all live very, very happily."  
  
"But..."  
  
"But then Peck got killed - or so they thought. And they were arrested. Shortly after that, Captain Murdock finds out that Peck was actually a POW - or had been. And that Sergeants Arnhold and Hanson had been with him. We know that Arnhold and Murdock were in contact, but Arnhold wasn't with Peck long enough for any confidences. Hanson was. And according to Arnhold, those two were friends.  
  
"Smith, Baracus, and Parish escape, get back in touch with the captain. He tells them about Hanson. Again - there's a chance, even though small, that Hanson can tell them what Peck knew about the money."  
  
Franklin still looked skeptical. "That still seems like an awful lot of effort on the chance..."  
  
"On the chance of recovering nearly three million dollars - at today's exchange rate, Sir." He smiled grimly at Franklin's look. "Divided among the three remaining men...I think they had sufficient inducement to locate Hanson. And now that they actually have Peck, instead..."  
  
"Fat lot of good that will do them. The man's batty as hell."  
  
"Which only gives us a golden opportunity to capture these men once and for all. Smith's going to be more vulnerable now than at any other time. He's not trained to deal with a head case. None of them are. We can issue an alert to all the nuthouses and clinics between here and Los Angeles. The minute they show up..."  
  
"Now, just wait a minute, Major. That's one hell of an undertaking. Why, there must be thousands..."  
  
"All we have to do is make use of civilian law enforcement - the FBI, the locals. They have the means to do this the fastest and most efficiently. After all, Peck is wanted on felony assault charges, and they consider him dangerous.."  
  
"Yes, but..."  
  
Longway knew it was time to play his trump card. "Colonel, I realize this is a major effort we're talking about. However, there is one other consideration. The recovery of that money might just induce Hanoi to be a little more...forthcoming about the remaining MIAs."  
  
Franklin sighed, and Longway knew he had him. Washington had refused to pay what they called "bribery money", but this wouldn't be a bribe. More a gesture of good faith.  
  
"What about that colonel...Lynch, is it? Isn't he 'in charge' of hunting down Smith and his men?"  
  
Longway shrugged. "Begging your pardon, Sir, but the man's totally inept. We can do this much more effectively. However, if Smith thinks Lynch is still in charge..."  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal pulled a set of sweats out of the shopping bags and handed them to Murdock.  
  
"Why don't you get the shower going? BA and I will see if we can get him in there without..." He stopped, not quite knowing the word he wanted to use. "Just get it ready for him. Oh, and uh, make sure you clear it."  
  
"Clear it?" Murdock stopped, puzzled.  
  
"Yeah...your meds, any aspirin, razors...that...sort of thing."  
  
"Hannibal..."  
  
"Just do it, Captain."  
  
He turned back to the bed, where BA was already talking softly to Face. He straightened his shoulders and stepped over, and BA straightened.  
  
"I ask him if he wants to take a shower, and he nods his head, just a little, but he don't move after that." BA, for once, let the helplessness sound in his voice.  
  
"It's okay, BA" Hannibal sat gingerly on the bed, close enough so he could talk softly, far enough so Face wouldn't pull back. Over the course of the morning, they'd learned that spacing pretty quickly. He kept his voice low, but stern. "Face, Murdock's running a shower for you. He's got your clean clothes in there, and he's waiting. So you need to get up now. I know you're still pretty shaky, so BA and I will help you. We'll just walk beside you and you can grab hold or let loose, whichever you want. But you need to get up. Now."  
  
Hannibal stood up, BA just behind him. Another moment and Face slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. He leaned on his arms, looking decidedly lopsided, and then moved painfully toward the edge of the bed. Once his feet were on the floor, Hannibal positioned himself on one side, BA on the other, still leaving that space. Face hesitated, then slowly reached up, first for Hannibal's arm, then BA's. Hannibal resisted the urge to grab his arm and help pull him up. He could feel the shaking as Face made first one, then another attempt to stand, before finally getting to his feet. Hannibal smiled.  
  
"Third time's a charm, eh, Face?"  
  
He got no response, but then he hadn't expected one. They made their slow way across the room, and Hannibal could feel the pressure lessening on his arm. Face was still weak from tossing his cookies all morning, but by the time they reached the bathroom door, he was only using the others for occasional balance. Hannibal reminded himself that Face wasn't helpless; yesterday's actions told him it would be good to remember that in the near future.  
  
Murdock stood by the door, smiling encouragingly, but Face never looked at him. So far, he hadn't looked at anybody. Not directly. Hannibal had caught some glances, but Face always looked immediately away.  
  
Not good.  
  
Face closed the bathroom door, and Hannibal heard the click of the lock. Almost immediately, the door opened again, just a sliver, and just as quickly, closed. Click. Open. Shut. Click. Three more times before finally the door stayed closed and locked. Hannibal had no idea what Face was trying to do, but apparently, he was now satisfied with whatever it was.  
  
He turned back to the bed and began stripping the soiled linen. Murdock and BA grabbed the clean bedding from the bureau. That had been a close call. The maid, not seeing a 'Do Not Disturb' sign, had knocked and walked in. Luckily, BA was in the bathroom, emptying the latest wastebasket, and the door had shielded Face from her view. Murdock had quickly intercepted her, apologizing and explaining that his uncle was ill, deftly taking the bedding from her as he ushered her back outside.  
  
It took only a few minutes to make up the bed, and the three men almost simultaneously plopped down on the other bed. Murdock looked at the bathroom, where the shower could still be heard.  
  
"So, Colonel?"  
  
"So?" Hannibal was sitting on the edge of the bed, calm, eyes closed.  
  
"So what do we do now? What did Cleary tell you? When do you want us to read that report? Are we heading back to LA soon? And what about Jenny? We should let her know what's going on..."  
  
"Murdock, please!" Hannibal rubbed his face, sighing heavily. "Okay. Right now, we stay put, at least until I know Face is completely dope free. What Cleary said and what's in that report are things that we don't need to go into detail about, at least not now. Suffice it to say that Face has a lot of problems, obviously, and we all know where they came from. We'll head back to LA as soon as Face is ready. As for Jenny, I don't know yet how to contact her without it being intercepted. We can't afford to give the military any clues whatsoever as to where we are. Hopefully, they're thinking we're already on the way to LA, so we'll give them a 'head start' there. That way, if they do trace us through Jenny, they'll have to regroup and backtrack."  
  
"So what happens when we get back to LA?" BA spoke this time, staring calmly at the wall.  
  
"I don't know, BA. It all depends on Face. We'll have to find someplace where we don't have to worry about being spotted, and where we can keep an eye on him, not let him take off again."  
  
They were silent for a few minutes. Murdock was chewing on his fingernail, a frown on his face. BA picked absently at the bedspread, then spoke softly.  
  
"How long you spose it'll take? I mean, until he's...okay?"  
  
"I don't know, BA."  
  
"I mean, I know it ain't gonna be quick, but like, a couple months?"  
  
"Could be."  
  
"Longer?"  
  
Hannibal looked up at the ceiling. "Probably."  
  
BA turned, looking at him hard. "You got any idea how we gonna do this, Colonel?"  
  
"No, BA. I have no idea..."  
  
*****  
  
Face stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist carefully. He grabbed a second towel and studiously started wiping up the floor. He reached across to get at the corner, his arm rubbing across the still-raw scrape on his chest. Grimacing, he stood, looking for the gauze to redress them, but the bathroom was empty. He stopped, puzzled. The bathroom was totally empty, save for the bar of soap and shampoo tube in the shower, the towels and his clothes. He ran his hand gently over the countertop. There were several damp spots, and he could see several small circular outlines in the corner. A couple of whiskers were stuck in the rim of the sink drain, but no sign of the razor. For the first time, he looked in the mirror. The marks around his neck stood out, obvious.  
  
He sat abruptly down on the stool, crushing the wet towel in his hands.  
  
They knew about...  
  
He looked bleakly at the door, a shudder running through his body.  
  
What else did they know?  
  
*****  
  
BA had retreated to the television once more. Hannibal was on his way to the bus depot, and a locker Cleary was supposed to leave the meds in. If he'd been able to get them. Murdock knew that wasn't going to be as easy as it sounded and hoped this wouldn't get the doctor into any trouble. Or get Hannibal caught breaking into the locker. He shook his head. Hannibal was known for spur of the moment plans; distracted, his plans just got careless.  
  
The bathroom door finally opened, and Face came out, dressed in a dark blue sweat suit. Murdock had looked at the suit as he laid it out in the bathroom, thinking Face would look like some hot shot track star in it. Instead, he looked like some kid wearing his big brother's clothes. It had been obvious Face had lost weight; the suit just emphasized how much.  
  
"Hey, Face! Feeling better?" Murdock grinned, hoping for at least a smile in return.  
  
Face nodded, staring at the floor, and slowly made his way over to the bed. He stared at it for a moment, finally glancing over at Murdock.  
  
"Maid service, at your service!" He snapped off a jaunty salute, but Face was already staring back at the bed. Murdock frowned, uncertain. "Uh, it's okay, Face. You can lie down. It's just...fresh sheets, is all." Murdock smiled when Face looked toward him again. "Uh, we should probably redress those scrapes, anyway. Make sure they don't get infected, y'know. Right, BA?"  
  
BA finally looked up from the television. "Yeah, we need to do that." He spoke to Murdock, looked at Murdock. "I'll get the stuff."  
  
It was obvious Face wasn't as matter-of-fact about the prospect. He had immediately moved back, so he now had the wall behind him, and Murdock didn't miss his quick glance at the door to the room. BA hadn't missed anything either. Sighing, he turned and headed toward the bed, jerking his head at Murdock, who stepped around him and went for the med kit, listening for trouble.  
  
"Now, let's just get this straight, LT. Ain't nobody gonna hurt you, or do nothin they shouldn't, but we gonna have to fix those, and we gonna have to do this more'n once. So you just sit down here and do what you're told, and we'll do what we gotta, and then it's done. Right?"  
  
Murdock wasn't sure which he was less happy with - the no-nonsense tone of BA's voice or Face's response to it. Almost at the first words, Face's head went down, and when BA pointed to the bed, he sat immediately.  
  
Just like a trained dog.  
  
Murdock spread the salve, and, despite his harsh tone, BA was gentle as he wrapped the gauze around Face's wrists and ankles. There was a bit more tension when BA told Face to lie down so they could do his chest, and even more when they had to lower his sweatpants a bit to do his waist, but eventually they finished. BA stretched and headed for the television as Murdock put away the supplies, but both men kept an eye on Face. He'd waited until they were well away from the bed before he rolled over to his side, back to the room.  
  
As Murdock settled into the chair by the door, he noted that Face had yet to look anyone in the eye.  
  
*****  
  
Old habits die hard. He'd been ready to tell them he could do his own 'fixing', but when that voice had come at him, he knew better. Knew what happened when he resisted. Not that it wasn't tempting.  
  
He didn't want to be here. Not when he didn't know what they knew, what they didn't. What they wanted from him.  
  
They had to want something. Why else would they come now? But what could he give them? They were the heroes. What would they want with him?  
  
He looked at Murdock, seated by the door. Watched the glances over at him.  
  
Maybe they didn't want him.  
  
Maybe they just wanted to keep him dead...


	18. Chapter 18

**October 11 1976 - 4 Days**  
  
When Hannibal left the motel, he was feeling slightly more optimistic than he had earlier. Face was up, was stronger. That was good. Very good.  
  
Okay, so the talk with the guys hadn't gone that well, but then it hadn't grown into a huge argument, as he'd been afraid of. And it was just the preliminary, really. Still, BA had gotten sullen, switching on the television and immersing himself in channel surfing, and Murdock...Hannibal grimaced. Murdock had asked one more time about that fucking report and Hannibal had reacted...badly. Reminding Murdock in strong language that he'd already said this wasn't the time for that. Which caused Murdock to flop down on the bed and glare at him as he left.  
  
Not that he'd had to leave right then. Cleary had said it would be at least five before he could get to the bus station, but Hannibal figured it was just as well he got there early. Just in case the military had the guy under surveillance. Hannibal grimaced. He'd soon be as paranoid as Face if this kept up.  
  
He pulled up a block from the terminal. He didn't like it. Open where he needed it hidden, blind when he needed to see; the whole damn Army could come rushing in before he could see them. And there wasn't a lot of activity so far. Which made the people who were there very...conspicuous.  
  
Damn. If he didn't get his head screwed on right pretty damn quick, Face wouldn't be the only one he'd have to rescue.  
  
He sat back in the seat, pulling out a cigar and watching the area around the lockers. He didn't look at his watch; he knew the doctor wouldn't be coming for another hour, at least. He frowned. Looked again at the terminal, the surroundings.  
  
He started the van and pulled away, careful of anyone who might be following.  
  
He grimaced. What worked once would work twice.  
  
****  
  
"Damn!"  
  
Both Murdock and Face started at the loud voice.  
  
"What...?" Murdock looked as BA shoved his finger at the television. On the screen, photos were flashing by of Hannibal, BA, and Wiley. Murdock stared, open-mouthed, as a rough sketch of Face appeared.  
  
"The whole damn country's gonna know who we are now!"  
  
"But...why Wiley? He's..." Murdock stopped at the glare from BA.  
  
" 'Cause they don't know he's gone, man! They think you're him." BA strode quickly to the window, searching for the van and Hannibal. "Damn! Damn! We gotta get ready to go, Murdock. Get everything packed up. Soon as Hannibal gets back, we're outta here. That desk clerk probably seen this already."  
  
The two men immediately started gathering up their supplies. No one paid any attention to Face, who was still watching the news. He slipped to the foot of the bed, then moved to the chair BA had been sitting in. When the news finished, he reached for the remote, switching channels until he found the next news program. He stared, eyes narrowed, as each picture came on the screen, listening as the reporter described the kidnapping from the hospital.  
  
And then the reporter started talking about Hannibal, BA and Wiley, and their escape from Fort Bragg...  
  
Face sat up straight.  
  
****  
  
He stopped at the local KFC and picked up enough food for an army. He was feeling good. He'd picked up Dr Cleary shortly after he left the base, and listened, smiling, as the good doctor reamed him a new ass for once more putting the car in the ditch. Then he'd left with the doctor's private phone number and a small package of pills that, hopefully, would soon make his lieutenant's life a little easier.  
  
Not to mention his own.  
  
He drove through the streets, now growing darker as the sun set. Traffic was picking up as well, slowing his pace as he moved out of the city proper. He glanced at his watch. Almost six o'clock. His mouth was starting to water as the KFC smell spread over the van. He hoped Face would be able to eat something more solid tonight. If he took it easy, had some of that soup with it, he'd be fine. Be nice to have one peaceful evening.  
  
Hannibal smiled. Tomorrow, if Face had a quiet night, they'd head for LA.  
  
*****  
  
"Colonel Smith, along with sergeants Baracus and Parish, broke out of Fort Bragg nearly four and a half years ago. Reports were initially received that the three men were working with various mercenary groups. However, this rather spectacular appearance has taken military officials by surprise, as there have only been sporadic sightings over the last three years. FBI and Army spokesmen have stated they have no idea why Smith would want to kidnap Sergeant Hanson, or what Smith's plans are for the man, who is apparently without family or finances."  
  
The broadcast moved on to other news, and Face sat back in the chair, ignoring the bustle going on around him. There was already too much in his head.  
  
What had happened? They'd come back heroes. Why had Hannibal taken them down that path? Gotten them arrested? Worked for mercenaries? What had happened to the men he'd known?  
  
Or had he? If he were honest, he didn't know them at all. Knew how to manipulate them. Knew how to work them. But he'd never gotten into that...bubble they had around themselves.  
  
BA and Wiley had been with the colonel forever. Even Murdock had been flying for them before Face had come along. He'd never been taken into that...team. He knew it, no matter what he'd pretended. What if there were things about the robbery that Hannibal hadn't told him?  
  
Maybe there was more to the robbery than he'd thought.  
  
Maybe there was more to...that day in Laos than he'd thought.  
  
He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. The money. Hannibal hadn't ordered them to burn it, but Face knew he'd be disappointed if they hadn't. All of them knew that. And no one wanted to disappoint the colonel, let him down...He remembered the guilt when Hannibal found out about that small amount Face had kept back. The relief when Hannibal had said he understood.  
  
The money. He'd seen the money burned. He'd seen it. Although...  
  
He hadn't seen it stacked. He'd been down the mountain, on watch. Had just left his pack with BA. When he'd come back up, it had already been there, in the fire pit.  
  
Only some of it, maybe? Had Hannibal been so 'understanding' because he'd done the same? Because he and Wiley and BA had really kept back some, maybe most, of the money? Only made it look like they'd burned it? Kept most of it, for the team? The team that Face was only on the periphery of?  
  
That mix-up with the radio. Had that been the start of it? Was that when Hannibal had had enough, made his plans for them? With the only fly in the ointment being the one guy nobody trusted?  
  
Was that why?  
  
If he hadn't taken off for Dimitri, had Hannibal had other plans for him?  
  
But then why come for him now?  
  
Face looked at the television. Remembered what that reporter had said.  
  
They hadn't come for him. They'd come looking for Kyle.  
  
The last person to see Face alive.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal pulled up in front of the motel room, stepping out and looking back toward the office. Something was up. The manager had been at the window as he pulled into the parking lot, and had seemed to hesitate when Hannibal waved to him. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but then again...  
  
He looked thoughtfully at the front of their room. It looked quiet. That didn't mean something hadn't happened earlier. Had Face done something? He hadn't thought about what to do if Face tried to leave. He should have. BA could stop him, but what would be the repercussions? He sighed. They'd have to talk about that.  
  
He glanced back toward the office as he came around the back of the van. His eyes narrowed. Was that the manager, by the corner of the building? He left the KFC in the back seat and headed for the room. Before he even had hold of the doorknob, BA swung it open and practically dragged him inside.  
  
"What the...?" He stared as Murdock pushed past him, carrying their duffels.  
  
"We was all over the news, Hannibal. You, me...and Wiley." He jerked his head at Murdock.  
  
"Face?"  
  
"They had a drawing is all. Still callin him Hanson, but I don't know..."  
  
"Yeah, the Army probably wouldn't say anything yet, even if they have ID'd him." He looked at the cleared room, Murdock putting the last of the grocery bags in the van. "Good job, guys. Let's get Face and get the hell out of here. That manager's probably called the MPs already."  
  
"Yeah, well, that might be a problem, Colonel." Murdock had come back in and now nodded toward the bathroom door. "I, uh, told him we were leaving soon and gave him those jeans and his coat to put on, in case we had to ditch the van, y'know." Murdock grimaced. "Uh, that was twenty minutes ago, and he won't come out."  
  
"Won't?"  
  
"Well, he doesn't answer. I mean, I'm sure he's okay, because there's nothing in there, you know? But..."  
  
"Did he see the news?"  
  
The guilty looks answered him. Shaking his head, he went over to the bathroom door. He had no idea what was going through Face's head right now. He had no idea what Face knew about them, or about what had happened. All he did know was he had to convince him they had to leave, and now. Unfortunately, he may have to play low and dirty to do it.  
  
"Face?" He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one. "Face, look, I know we need to talk about a few things, but right now, we need to get out of here."  
  
Silence. Hannibal sighed. Okay. Low and dirty.  
  
"Face, if we don't leave now, there's a damn good chance the law is going to be here. And if they catch up with us, it means you go right back where you were. And if I'm not mistaken, that means facing felony charges and a long..."  
  
The door opened suddenly, and Face stood there, pale and...damn it. For a split second, they looked straight at each other, then Face dropped his eyes. The kid was scared. Or desperate.  
  
"Okay, let's hit the road."  
  
Nobody said anything as they climbed into the van. Face hesitated a moment as he was getting in, then moved immediately to the back, settling into a little niche among the duffels and supplies, close to the window. Hannibal watched as he climbed in, noting that Face kept glancing at the roof. Whatever the hell that was about.  
  
"Out the back, BA. Quietly."  
  
That was the plan. A matching pair of unmarked vehicles pulling into the parking lot changed things. BA hit the gas, ramming his way between the two, leaving them in the way of the other four cars that had come in the front.  
  
Ten minutes of running back and forth through residential streets and back alleys and Hannibal was satisfied they'd lost their pursuers. He directed BA to head east. The chances of running into a roadblock in that direction were slimmer. They'd head east, then circle north before turning towards LA.  
  
Hannibal glanced once more to the back, frowning. Face had pushed himself as tightly in among the duffels and other supplies as he could, encased, as it were, on three sides.  
  
He couldn't have had a more defensible position.  
  
*****  
  
The food was cold by the time anyone thought to eat, but it was food. Murdock handed a plastic plate back to Face, but Face studiously ignored him, staring out through the window. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Murdock set it on the floor of the van in front of Face before turning back around in his seat. Face let it sit for several minutes, and then carefully reached down, plucking a chicken leg from the plate, and withdrawing again into his enclosure.  
  
He ate slowly, even though he was very hungry. His stomach still gave a lurch now and then, plus he wasn't quite sure he trusted the food itself. Any more than he trusted the men he was with. He still had to figure that out, and so far, it wasn't looking good.  
  
Had he his preferences, he would've stayed locked in that bathroom until they'd have no choice but to leave him. That had been his plan. But once again, his weakness betrayed him. The thought of going back to that hospital, or jail afterwards...  
  
He finished the chicken, ignored the soggy salad, and quickly ate the two rolls on the plate. It was enough for now. He closed his eyes, still listening to the sounds in the van, but concentrating on what he was going to do next.  
  
It wasn't as easy to get out of Mobile as Hannibal had apparently thought. Face knew that going east there were only two roads that crossed the bay. Both were blocked. They headed north, taking secondary roads, residential streets. Hannibal kept saying the authorities couldn't cover every exit. After a couple of hours, it seemed they could. Every road they took led to a highway saturated with police. Face could tell by the sudden stops and starts that BA was getting frustrated, angry. He sighed and moved up so he could see through the windshield.  
  
"Take a left."  
  
All three men looked at him, but Hannibal nodded to BA.  
  
"Head east, as far as you can go."  
  
Face moved back to his spot and watched out the side window. BA drove for several miles before pulling to the side of the road. Up ahead, they could barely make out more flashing lights.  
  
"So?"  
  
Again Face moved toward the front, then suddenly pulled the side door open and jumped out. Murdock started to follow, and Hannibal's door was partway open when Face turned, speaking over his shoulder.  
  
"Follow me in the van."  
  
Without another word, Face moved down through the shallow ditch and up into the woods beyond. He knew this place. Had found it shortly after leaving that place Cleary had sent him. He'd stayed here, moving gradually along the creek bed, living off the land until he had found his way out of the city entirely.  
  
It was rough, but passable, even for the van.  
  
Just past the tree line, he stopped, waiting. He knew they would be arguing about following him. He'd wait, see if they believed him or if they came after him on foot. He could take off now, easily lose them either way, but he wouldn't. Wouldn't leave them to be caught by the authorities. He had never betrayed the colonel.  
  
That was the difference between them.  
  
*****  
  
BA was mumbling as he peered ahead. He'd had to turn off the headlights some time ago, and was steering only by watching Face and some glimmers of moonlight through the trees. A couple of times he'd been sure they were going to bottom out, but then he'd see the impatient look from Face and Hannibal, and plowed ahead. So far, the LT seemed to know what he was doing.  
  
So far.  
  
After what seemed like hours, they came out into a clearing. Face was up ahead a few yards, watching them, but not moving. Silently, he pointed to the side, behind them. The three men climbed stiffly out of the van and looked. Far away in the distance, they could see the faint reflection of flashing lights in the sky.  
  
Ahead of them - nothing but darkness.  
  
Hannibal, grinning, was walking toward Face. BA just shook his head, watching as Murdock followed behind, laughing. So everything was just fine and dandy, now, was it?  
  
Until Face took a step back. Hannibal slowed his walk, coming to a stop, and Murdock stopped laughing. BA moved slowly forward, stopping when he came up beside Hannibal. Face hadn't moved again, but he was glancing at the woods only a few yards away.  
  
"Face?" Hannibal spoke calmly. "You did a great job, kid. But we need to get going, before things get hot again."  
  
Face kept watching them. Hannibal took a step forward; Face took a step toward the woods.  
  
"Face, you don't want to take off. You don't want to go back to living like you were. You know that." Hannibal took another step; Face didn't. "There's nothing here for you, not anymore. They'll be hunting you now, just like they're hunting us." Step. "Come back with us, Face."  
  
Face took one more look at the woods, and slowly, almost cautiously, began walking back toward the van, although giving the others wide berth. Hannibal held the others back with a quick motion, and they followed at a discreet distance.  
  
"Hannibal, how we sposed to take care of him if he's gonna be tryin to bolt every time we ain't right next to him?"  
  
Hannibal's voice was impatient. "He's still skittish, BA. He's had as much dumped on him the last couple days as we have. Give him time."  
  
BA shook his head. "Man, I hope you know what you're doin."  
  
By the time they climbed back into the van, Face was firmly ensconced in the back of the van. Back in position.  
  
Neither man realized that, softly as they had spoken, their voices had been heard.

**October 12 1976 - 5 Days**  
  
They drove the rest of the night, again staying off major highways and skirting even the smaller cities. Hannibal kept glancing to the back, thankful that both Murdock and Face were apparently sleeping. Just before dawn, they pulled into a truck stop. Hannibal debated for a moment as to whether they should get takeout, then decided they all needed a break from the van.  
  
Face hesitated as they walked in the door, then, seemingly reassured to see only a few truckers seated at the counter, made his way determinedly to the booth closest to the back. He sat facing the entrance, and Hannibal noticed the frown when Murdock sat down beside him, on the aisle.  
  
"Uh, Murdock..." Hannibal made a little twisting motion with his fingers, and luckily, Murdock picked up on it.  
  
"Hey, Face, you wanna switch places with me? Then the waitress won't be tripping over my feet." He grinned as he stood, waiting for Face.  
  
Face was startled at the sudden move, but slid out of the booth, giving Hannibal a quick glance. Once again seated, he picked at the edge of the table, not looking at anyone at the table, or in the restaurant.  
  
Murdock was apparently completely refreshed after his sleep, and kept up a constant monologue, handing out menus, discussing the various choices. Cheerful and smiling. Hannibal thought maybe a little too cheerful, but he decided not to put the brakes on it. Not yet, anyway. Anyone who didn't know Murdock wouldn't notice. To them, he would just be another happy-go-lucky guy.  
  
"What are you having, Face? I think I'm going with that flapjack special. With strawberries. Haven't had strawberries for a long time. How about you?"  
  
Face just shrugged. He hadn't even opened the menu yet. Hannibal frowned and leaned slightly forward.  
  
"Are you okay, Face? Do you feel up to eating?"  
  
Face squirmed but nodded his head, and opened the menu. Hannibal still wasn't satisfied, but let it go. He looked over at BA, who was watching Face closely, then at Murdock, who was running his finger up and down the menu items, over and over.  
  
Hannibal was getting a bad feeling.  
  
The waitress came over just then. Young. Pretty. Smiling. Chipper for so early in the morning.  
  
"What would you-all like this morning?"  
  
Southern charmer, all right. Hannibal smiled, gave his order, followed by BA, who even managed to be civil to the girl. Murdock rattled off his order next, then looked expectantly at Face.  
  
Face didn't say anything, but Hannibal could see eyes flicking back and forth across the menu. He licked his lips and glanced up at the others, then quickly back down at the menu.  
  
"Uh, how about the flapjacks, Face? Like Murdock's having?"  
  
Face nodded, quickly, and slumped back against the booth. Hannibal could've kicked himself. After everything Cleary and Jenny had told them, he should've known Face would have trouble here. Too many people, too close quarters, too many choices. He could practically see the overload building.  
  
Hannibal sent a frown Murdock's direction, and he quieted down, some. There was another one. Too much happening, too many emotions, too many unknowns. Hannibal knew he and BA would have to switch off driving. The sooner these two got to LA, the better for all concerned.  
  
The meal was brought quickly, one of the benefits of a truck stop. Even BA looked impressed at the quantity, and for a while, there was nothing to worry about except trying to get through it all. Hannibal kept an eye on Face, who seemed to have no problems eating. Which didn't surprise Hannibal. It had been a while since he'd eaten anything of substance.  
  
Hannibal was starting to relax again by the time the waitress had cleared their plates and handed over their check. She gave them a sweet smile before moving on to her next customers. Murdock grinned at her, then looked at Face.  
  
"Now that would make it worth staying a while, huh, Face?" He nudged him conspiratorially.  
  
Face immediately shoved away, practically falling out of the booth before he got his balance. But he stayed up and moved for the door. Murdock stared after, mouth open in dismay. Hannibal stood and dropped his wallet on the table.  
  
"Take care of the bill, BA."  
  
Hannibal hurried outside, afraid Face would be long gone, and his heart rammed his chest when he didn't see him. Then he slid open the door of the van, and Face was there, in the back. In his sanctuary.  
  
"You okay, kid?"  
  
Nod.  
  
"Murdock didn't mean anything, Face. He's just...a little hyper this morning."  
  
No response.  
  
Damn, again. Face didn't know about Murdock. Hell, Face didn't know about any of them. How the hell could he be expected to understand?  
  
"Face, I'm sorry about all of this. I know it has to be confusing as hell. But we'll get it straightened out, once we get back to LA, get settled. But in the meantime, if things get a little rocky for you, let me know, okay? Just...let me know."  
  
Another nod, but Face didn't look up.  
  
Hannibal watched him for another moment. What the hell is going on in that head of yours, kid? And how do I get in?  
  
It was a much-subdued group of men who drove away from the truck stop. They had a long way to go.


	19. Chapter 19

**October 12 1976 - 5 Days**  
  
He looked up carefully. Cautiously. Saw Murdock, turned in his seat so he could watch him. Looked back down. He didn't want to talk to him. Didn't want him to see. Didn't want any of them to see. He pulled his coat tighter around him. Kyle's coat. No. It had never been Kyle's.  
  
He pulled softly at the cuff. It should've been Kyle's. If Kyle had just gone with Arne, he would've been the one with the new coat, with the right name on it. If he'd just gone with Arne, instead of...  
  
He looked up again. Murdock was still watching. And if he looked up a little more, he'd probably see Hannibal watching in the mirror as well. Always watching.  
  
He didn't know what happened. He should've taken Murdock down, right then and there. It's what he did. He always fought back. Except when he should've fought the hardest. After Kyle died. After he went back...  
  
If Murdock hadn't said that, about that girl, the waitress...she was pretty. Very pretty. But...God, he hadn't thought about a woman that way for...He felt a sudden shudder. Just the thought of...another shudder swept through him.  
  
"You cold, Face? We got blankets back there."  
  
He shook his head, quickly. Didn't look up. Didn't want Murdock to see...didn't want any of them to see...to know...  
  
He closed his eyes. Tight. Think of something else. Anything else. Jenny...no. No, not Jenny. Not Dao Quy. Not Leslie. None of them. None of them. Nothing like that. Something else. Something else.  
  
Anything else...  
  
*****  
  
"You cold, Face? We got blankets back there."  
  
Murdock frowned when Face just shook his head. He was shivering, even with that heavy coat on. Murdock kept watching, just in case, and was relieved when he seemed to drift off to sleep a few minutes later. Murdock didn't turn around until Face's body relaxed.  
  
Hannibal was watching. Not Face. Watching Murdock. He gave Hannibal a small smile. I'm okay. Really. Hannibal turned around. Yeah, I'm okay, Colonel. I've only shoved my friend back those proverbial two steps.  
  
He sat back in the seat.  
  
My friend.  
  
My friend?  
  
Had he ever thought of him in those terms before this? Not consciously. Not deliberately. Face had told Father O'Malley that Murdock was his friend. Had he really thought that? Or was it wishful thinking?  
  
Was Murdock his friend, back then?  
  
Maybe he thought that because Murdock didn't shut him down all the time. Murdock didn't trust him, but...but why was that? Murdock closed his eyes. Why didn't any of them trust Face? So what if he had 'deals' going. He only did what a thousand other guys did; he just happened to be very good at it. And anything the guys needed or wanted, Face did his best to get, whether they asked him to or not. He knew BA respected the way Face handled himself in the boonies, whether he'd admit it or not. And Hannibal...Hannibal depended on him, again, admit it or not.  
  
Wiley. So easy to see it now, of course. Whether it was jealousy or looking out for the team or just genuine dislike, Murdock still hadn't decided. But he could see now how Wiley had been the one constantly harping on what Face did or said. Making mountains out of molehills. Especially after Ray left. And that stuff with the Marines. Saigon.  
  
Saigon was what did him in. Hannibal was the only one besides Face who really knew what had happened there. Rumors all over, but no facts. Not even for the team. That's what kept Face out. Gave Wiley the ammunition he needed.  
  
Murdock looked back at Face. He was frowning in his sleep, shifting around, and then slowly relaxed again.  
  
Maybe Murdock had been the only friend Face had back then, even if it was a twisted sort of friendship. But Murdock knew he wanted to be Face's friend now. And it wasn't out of guilt. Anyone who'd gone through whatever hell Face had, and come out of it in one piece, however damaged, was someone to admire. Someone worth being friends with.  
  
He would be Face's friend now. Come hell or high water.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal pulled a cigar and lit it, calmly rolling down the window at BA's glare. He was turned partway around in his seat so he could watch Murdock without his noticing. He wasn't so worried about Face right now, as he seemed to have calmed down. But he knew damn well Murdock would be blaming himself for the whole incident. Well, it was a pretty boneheaded thing to do. But that was partly Hannibal's fault. He should've put the kibosh on Murdock's antics before it got to that point.  
  
He knew that smile of Murdock's was just for show. And knew, thankfully, that Murdock really thought he was fooling everyone. As long as Murdock thought he could bluff his way through, Hannibal could work around him. Give him choices that either gave up the pretense or forced him to play along. Either way, he'd do what he needed to.  
  
He sighed. If he'd had any idea things would've turned out the way they had, Murdock would still be in LA. No way he would expose him to this. If Murdock lost ground, he'd never forgive himself. He smiled humorlessly. One more on the tote board. Quite a record for the 'great' Hannibal Smith.  
  
"Hannibal..."  
  
He turned quickly, not liking the tone of voice at all. Murdock was watching the back, and Hannibal leaned over to see. Face was asleep, but jerking, almost spasm-like, and mumbling fast and furiously. Hannibal glanced at BA, who just shook his head and pulled over. Immediately Hannibal moved to the back.  
  
"Should we wake him up?" Murdock was only inches away; Hannibal could practically feel the worry dripping off him.  
  
"No, not yet. That might be worse than the dream." He spoke quietly, trying to hear what Face was saying. His actions were uncomfortably similar to those of that first day at the motel when they were cleaning him up, and Hannibal wanted to know why.  
  
Face was jerking more violently now, and his voice was becoming panicky.  
  
"Hannibal..."  
  
"What's he saying, Murdock? Sounds like a name..."  
  
"Sounds like...Mary? No...Harry. He's saying Harry."  
  
"Who's Harry?"  
  
Murdock suddenly backed away, and Hannibal looked at him sharply. "Murdock? You know who Harry is?"  
  
"I...I don't know." He looked nervously toward the front of the van. "I...I might. But I think we need to wake him now, Hannibal. We need to wake him up."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We just do, Hannibal. Wake him up."  
  
Hannibal frowned, but Face was getting more and more panicky. Whatever he was dreaming, and whoever this 'Harry' was, it wasn't pleasant.  
  
"Face! Face! Hey, kid, wake up! Wake up, Lieutenant!"  
  
He woke almost immediately, eyes staring straight at Hannibal, filled with a fear Hannibal hadn't seen since Korea. Instantly, Face turned away, and Hannibal could see the crimson blush spread around to the back of his neck.  
  
"Hey, it's okay, Face. Just a dream. That's all. Just a dream. It's over now."  
  
Hannibal didn't know if Face even heard what he was saying. He refused to look up. Hannibal sighed and moved back to his seat, giving Murdock a look with promise - he wasn't done with him yet.  
  
*****  
  
They stopped near Guymon, Oklahoma, a little after six that day. Hannibal had intended to drive straight through to LA, but the number of patrol cars they'd seen, even on the back roads, made him nervous, and they'd turned north. Face had refused to leave the van when they stopped for lunch and ignored the sandwiches they brought back from the store. BA had stared out the windshield for a few minutes before informing Hannibal they would stop at the first decent motel they came to that evening. And he didn't leave any room for discussion in his tone.  
  
Hannibal almost smiled at that. BA may not be at all happy with the way things were going, and it was obvious he wasn't comfortable dealing with all the "head stuff", as he put it, but he wasn't going to let that get in the way of taking care of the team. And Hannibal realized that Face had become a member of the team, finally. When it happened, he wasn't sure. At what point had BA and Murdock come to that same realization that he had? That the man described by Arnhold, the man that accepted beatings and risked death to keep others safe, that had survived alone in the jungle for God only knew how long, was not some unknown sergeant, but their own man. Their LT.  
  
Theirs.  
  
Now Hannibal just had to try and convince Face of that. Somehow he knew that was going to be crucial to Face's recovery. He didn't think it would happen otherwise.  
  
The motel was really an old ranch house with some rooms added on. Old, but clean, comfortable looking, an attached restaurant. Nearly empty, from the look of the parking lot. Off-season. They could see the lights of Guymon, but nothing else.  
  
Perfect.  
  
Hannibal was surprised but relieved when Face got out of the van without protest. Granted, he waited outside with BA while Murdock and Hannibal checked out their adjoining rooms, but that was a small thing in his mind. The real test came next, as Hannibal and Murdock joined them outside.  
  
"Feel like eating in the restaurant, Face? We could..."  
  
"Okay." Face was looking out over the cornfields, barren now.  
  
Hannibal frowned. "You're sure?"  
  
"I said, okay."  
  
There was the slightest edge to his voice that made BA stiffen, but Hannibal just nodded and led the way into the restaurant. The hesitancy of the morning was gone now; Face did a quick thorough check of the room and then headed for a table in the corner, ignoring the booths along the wall. Once again, he sat facing the door, but this time he had no one sitting next to him. Murdock sat across the table from him, BA and Hannibal on adjacent sides.  
  
Apparently, no one wanted to repeat the mistakes of the morning.  
  
Face didn't bother looking at the menu. He listened to what the others chose, and again followed Murdock's lead. Hannibal wasn't sure he liked the way Face was learning to cope with the situation, but it did make for a calmer atmosphere. On the surface, at least. He wasn't sure if either BA or Murdock caught the undercurrent, but everyone seemed willing to play along with the facade.  
  
The meal went relatively smoothly, if quietly. Murdock was almost as subdued as Face, leaving any conversation to BA and Hannibal. That consisted of perhaps five minutes deciding what time they would leave in the morning.  
  
They were walking to the rooms when Hannibal announced he and Murdock were going to check the perimeter. BA looked a little surprised, but after a quick look at Murdock, nodded. Hannibal stepped closer, away from Face's hearing.  
  
"No news programs, okay, BA?"  
  
Face didn't appear to care what their plans were. He waited outside the room until BA unlocked it, then wandered inside. BA gave them one last glare before following. Hannibal sighed. BA would have to start getting used to Face, one on one. There was going to be a lot of that in the next few months.  
  
He and Murdock walked slowly down the drive, toward the road. For some reason, Hannibal wanted to be some distance from the motel before they spoke. Something told him this was not a conversation he wanted to chance anyone else hearing.  
  
"Okay, Murdock. Who's Harry?"  
  
Murdock looked down at the ground for a moment. Obviously, he wasn't comfortable with this, and that just made Hannibal more apprehensive.  
  
"I think he's a guy from the hospital, Colonel. The nurse said his name was Eddie, but given how doped up Face was, he could've gotten the name wrong."  
  
"Okay. And just who is Eddie, or Harry - and why would Face be having nightmares about him?"  
  
"He was another patient there." Murdock swallowed, and wouldn't look at Hannibal. "I...I'm not really sure how to tell you, Hannibal..."  
  
*****  
  
BA was channel surfing, trying to find something that would fill in the time, but not push any of the LT's buttons. Seemed like there were a lot of buttons just waiting to be pushed, too.  
  
Face had wandered into the adjoining room. It made BA wary, so he'd followed, watching as Face checked the door lock, just like he had that bathroom door back in Mobile. Checked the windows. Looked in the closets, the bathroom. Checked that lock as well. It was spooky. Never said a word, never looked at BA. Just like BA wasn't even there.  
  
Then they'd moved back into the first room. Same thing. Checking all the locks, the doors, windows, bathroom, closets. Then he'd carefully moved the big armchair into the corner, facing the door. Sat down, put his head back, closed his eyes. He hadn't moved after that.  
  
BA finally settled on a sports channel, but he wasn't really watching. He wondered what it was that Hannibal and Murdock were talking about. Had to be one of two things. Either that bad dream Face had had, or Murdock himself. He didn't think it was the dream; figured Face would have them. So it had to be Murdock.  
  
He glanced over at Face. Still hadn't moved.  
  
Murdock was falling apart, that was easy to see. Not that BA expected a full-blown "episode", like that doctor called them. But little by little. That deal this morning just made it more obvious. But BA had seen it coming. Knew Hannibal had, too. When he was serious, he was too serious. When he was happy, too happy. No in-between. Even when he was quiet, it was like he wasn't even there anymore. Gone off into his head.  
  
BA looked over at Face. His eyes were open now, but BA couldn't tell if he was watching him, the television, or nothing at all.  
  
Murdock wasn't there yet, where Face was. BA hoped he never went there. Murdock was a different kind of crazy. He stayed in the real world, just bent it here and there. Just enough to keep the bad stuff away. And he had those pills, too, so if you caught him quick enough, he could reign it in before it got away from him. Still drove BA up the wall, but...  
  
At least he wasn't dangerous.  
  
BA jumped when Face suddenly got up from the chair. Started wandering again. He went into the other room, and BA could hear him checking everything again. He didn't follow this time. Face didn't act like he wanted to get away. More like he wanted to make sure nobody could get in. BA wasn't sure if that was good or bad.  
  
Face came back in, checked the room and went back to his chair. This time he sat up straight, staring at BA. Like he was thinking about something.  
  
"BA?"  
  
The voice was soft, calm. That was good.  
  
"Yeah, LT?"  
  
"Where's Wiley?"  
  
*****  
  
"Hannibal?"  
  
Hannibal heard the voice, but it didn't quite register. Just like he felt the breeze, but didn't. Saw the lights from the town, but didn't.  
  
"Hannibal?"  
  
He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned back to Murdock. "Yeah?"  
  
"Uh, you don't think...I mean, he couldn't done more than..."  
  
Hannibal closed his eyes. Seeing the hospital room. Face on the bed...  
  
"No. He was strapped down so damn tight...blessing in disguise, huh?" The last words came out bitter, cold. Angry.  
  
"Yeah." Murdock's voice was low, sad. "What are you going to do, Hannibal?"  
  
"I'd like to get my hands on those fucking ass holes at the hospital, but that wouldn't solve anything, would it?" Hannibal paced across the drive, yanking a cigar from his pocket, holding it so tightly he nearly broke it in half. He stared up at the stars, trying to focus. Trying not to think how Face had felt, having that done to him, helpless to stop it...trying not to think how he, himself, would have felt.  
  
Realizing how Face would feel, having that on his mind, being around them.  
  
He stared at Murdock."That's why he acted like he did that first day, isn't it? He thought it was happening all over again. He thought we were...shit!" He looked at the crumpled cigar, tossed it in the ditch. "I'll have to talk to him. Get him to talk to me. I can't let him keep that to himself, brood on it. And make sure he knows it wasn't us."  
  
*****  
  
"Wiley?" BA could feel his jaw drop. That was the last thing he expected. "Uh, he's gone, Face. He died."  
  
Face's expression didn't change. "When?"  
  
BA sighed. " 'Bout three months ago. He got cancer."  
  
Face nodded, slowly. "You saw him?"  
  
BA scowled. "Yeah, I saw him. We was with him right to the end." He saw a flicker of emotion from Face, felt a wave of guilt sweep through him.  
  
"All of you were there, when he died?"  
  
BA wasn't sure where Face was going, and he didn't like talking about it. "No. Hannibal was, but Murdock and me didn't get there until after he...until after."  
  
Again, Face nodded slowly. He sat back in the chair, put his head back, closed his eyes.  
  
BA watched him for a moment before turning back to the television. The man had problems, sure, but that was...that was just cold, man. Stone cold. He stared at the screen, the excited voices of the crowd in the background. But he was seeing Face, calmly closing his eyes, dismissing BA. Dismissing Wiley...


	20. Chapter 20

**October 12 1976 - 5 Days**  
  
It was hard to think with the television on, but Face let it ride. He knew BA had expected some kind of reaction, some sign of sadness or regret at Wiley's death. But Wiley was only a memory. But then, so much was.  
  
He was more concerned with how Wiley died. BA said cancer, but Face didn't know. And he didn't like the idea that Hannibal had been the only one there when he died. He knew he shouldn't be thinking along those lines, but cancer cost a lot of money. Maybe more than Wiley's share. Maybe Wiley was going to die anyway; it would only make sense to put him out of his misery sooner than later. Before it started eating into the others' share.  
  
Face sighed, frowning. He shouldn't be thinking that. He shouldn't. Before the robbery, before they walked out on him, he wouldn't have. Damn.  
  
No one had mentioned that. No one had said one word about that. Oh, by the way, 'kid', sorry about leaving you in the jungle like that. But, hey, look - we came back for you. Took five years but we found you again. So no big deal, right? Never mind why we left you in the first place. And don't worry about the future - we've got that all figured out.  
  
He opened his eyes, looking around the room.  
  
The room was so damn small. Two windows in the front, nothing else. Just walls. Walls, and that damn television. And BA, sitting there, staring at him.  
  
They were always staring at him.  
  
Why the hell was he here? Why hadn't they just gotten rid of him? That would've solved all their problems.  
  
Why the hell had they come after him in the first place? Why hadn't they just left him alone? They hadn't wanted him in the first place. Smith hadn't asked for him; Face had tricked him into that. Challenged him. If he hadn't kept poking Smith's ego, and feathering their nest with all the things he could get for them, they'd have gotten rid of him long before they did.  
  
Why the hell would they want him now?  
  
Damn. The room was so small. So dark. So loud. That damn television. And BA. Just sitting there. Silent. Glaring. Like he always glared at Face. Glaring even more now. Now he'd lost Wiley, and ended up with Face instead. Yeah, that was an even trade, all right. Why wouldn't BA be happy with that?  
  
BA wouldn't be happy until this was done. None of them would be. Once Face was out of the way, their secrets safe...  
  
He closed his eyes. If only he knew what their secrets were...at least then he'd know why...  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal stopped just outside the door, gathering his thoughts. He'd been trying to think this through as he and Murdock walked slowly back to the room. He wasn't comfortable at all with what he had to do. And he knew Face wouldn't be. He had to take away the...sex part of it. That just complicated things. It really wasn't any different than getting beaten up. Not really. And Face had gone through enough fights. The only real difference was this time he hadn't been able to fight back. If he hadn't been trussed up like that, it never would've happened. He had to make Face see it that way. And then put it aside and move on.  
  
Yeah. Just another fight that he lost, through no fault of his own.  
  
He tried the door, finding it locked. Damn. Was even BA getting paranoid? Like a locked door would stop a gang of MPs...  
  
The door suddenly opened and Hannibal frowned at BA.  
  
"He locked it." BA nodded back toward the room and Hannibal saw Face, sitting in the corner, watching.  
  
Defensive positioning again.  
  
"Everything okay otherwise?"  
  
"Yeah. He checked every inch of both rooms a couple times, but he been sittin there mostly. Uh," BA glanced back at Face, "he asked about Wiley. Finally."  
  
Hannibal didn't miss the bitterness. One more thing to think about. Deal with. But not now. "What did you tell him?"  
  
"Just that he's gone. Didn't seem to bother him none. Mostly he wanted to know who was with him when...it happened."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And nothin. I tol him you was with Wiley, and he just sat back and went to sleep. Didn't say a damn word about it."  
  
"Nothing about...?"  
  
"No. Nothin bout that. Just where he was, then went to sleep, like..."  
  
"Okay, BA, okay. He doesn't see things the way we do yet. Try to remember that."  
  
From the look he got, Hannibal knew BA wasn't buying it, but there was nothing he could do about it right now.  
  
"I want you and Murdock bunking in the other room tonight. I need to talk to Face."  
  
Murdock started for the door, but BA hung back. "You gonna talk to him bout Wiley?"  
  
"No. Not tonight. I have to talk to him about that dream."  
  
BA shook his head, moving toward the door. "He probly don't even remember it, or that Harry..."  
  
There was a sudden crash from the corner. The three men jerked around, to see Face standing, fists clenched, chair on its side. He was staring at them, pale, eyes wide.  
  
Hannibal looked at BA and jerked his head angrily toward the door. Abashed, BA shoved Murdock ahead of him and shut the door behind them.  
  
Hannibal turned back to Face and sighed.  
  
"Yeah, I guess you do remember..."  
  
*****  
  
Murdock glared at BA from across the room.  
  
"Way to go, BA!"  
  
"I didn't do nothin!"  
  
"No, just shout that name to the world!"  
  
"How was I sposed to know he was gonna go all nuts again? Damn, Murdock, one minute he's just sittin there, next minute he's..."  
  
"What do you expect him to do, BA?" Murdock dropped down on the bed, looking bleakly up at him. "One minute he's in that shithole nuthouse, the next minute he's here with us, running from place to place..."  
  
"I know that, fool. Don't mean I gotta like it."  
  
Murdock narrowed his eyes. "You didn't like watching Wiley die, either, but you stuck by him."  
  
"Don't you bring Wiley into this!"  
  
"Why not? Why the hell not? He's the whole reason we're in this mess!"  
  
"He was my best friend, damn it."  
  
" 'Was' being the operative term, BA. He lied to you. He lied to Hannibal, left Face out there to die! And you get pissed off because Face doesn't care that he's dead? Now who's nuts?!"  
  
BA looked toward the ceiling, blinking fast. "I know what he did. And I know it ain't Face's fault he's the way he is. I just...I just get tired sometimes. Y'know?"  
  
Murdock sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. But we have to see this through." He hesitated, taking a deep breath. "We have to make it right, so Wiley can rest in peace."  
  
BA scowled down at him. "That's just dumb, Murdock." He glanced at the door leading to the other room. "I'm gonna go check the van. You holler if...if anybody needs me."  
  
The door didn't quite slam as he left.  
  
Murdock gave a small smile; BA would come around again. He just had to decompress. Murdock knew about that. Then he frowned. He could hear, barely, Hannibal's voice. He shouldn't listen. He didn't want to hear that.  
  
He really didn't.  
  
*****  
  
He felt like he was drowning. He started breathing harder, faster. He couldn't get any air. He needed to get outside. Where there was air. There was no air in here. No air at all.  
  
He started moving toward the door, but he felt so...lightheaded. Tingling all over. He had to stop, brace himself against the wall.  
  
"Face..."  
  
He looked quickly at Hannibal. Too quickly. The room started swimming, and he slid down the wall, closing his eyes.  
  
"Face?"  
  
The voice was closer now. He looked up, tensing. Hannibal moved back.  
  
How did they know about Harry? How the hell did he find out? No one knew. No one. He looked up as Hannibal sat slowly on the edge of the bed. He was frowning. God, how much did he know?  
  
"Face, I know this isn't going to be easy. But we need to talk about this. About Harry. And what he did."  
  
No, no, no...  
  
"I-I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know any...Harry."  
  
"Face, you don't have to deny it. It's okay. I know it's been...bothering you. I just wish I'd found out earlier."  
  
He could feel his heart pounding, pounding like it was going to explode. He had to stop this...  
  
"No. I don't know..."  
  
"You can't let it get to you, kid. You have to see it for what it was..."  
  
See it? He saw it. He saw it every day. Every day, Harry showed up, standing on the street corner, across the field...disappearing before he could stop him...  
  
"...not your fault. You would've fought him off..."  
  
If I hadn't been such a coward. If I hadn't been so...  
  
"But now it's time to put it behind you. It's over, done, and brooding over it won't change that."  
  
He looked up at Hannibal. He looked so far away. So...stern. Unforgiving...  
  
I tried...I did, Hannibal...  
  
"It's okay, Face. I understand. If you'd had a chance to protect yourself, you would have. But now, you just have to accept it like a man and move on."  
  
"But...I had chances." He looked down, felt the shame wash over him. "l...I didn't take them. I..."  
  
He heard the bed creak as Hannibal stood. "Them? This happened more than once?"  
  
God, the anger in his voice. The disgust...  
  
"I wanted to fight back, Colonel, I did, but...I was..."  
  
"How many times, Face? How many times did Harry..."  
  
Face slumped against the wall. He felt so cold.  
  
"Face?"  
  
"I...I don't know. Sometimes...every day...sometimes...he'd leave me alone for...a few days. If we were moving..."  
  
Hannibal didn't say anything. Face looked up, hating the tears he felt forming. Falling apart like a child. Hannibal was still standing over him, like Harry used to do. Standing over him, grinning. Just before he...  
  
"I should have...I know. I know. But I was..." His voice was cracking. It hurt so much to breathe, to talk, to think. "God, I was so...scared..."  
  
There. He'd admitted it. Admitted his cowardice to the one man...  
  
Face pushed up to his hands and knees, feeling sick, forced himself to stand, holding onto the wall. Harry took a step toward him, and he staggered for the door. Had to get away. Away from Harry. Away from Hannibal. But the room kept moving, sliding from one side to the other.  
  
He felt the iron grip on his arm. He closed his eyes. Not again. Please not again. He tried to push away, but his other arm was grabbed. He heard Harry's voice, angry, loud. Smelled the foul breath, the rough fabric of his uniform. His hands...He fell to his knees, knowing what was coming. Knowing he couldn't stop it now, any more than he could before. Hating his weakness. Hating his cowardice.  
  
Hating himself for letting it happen. Again.  
  
"Face!"  
  
Hannibal. Oh, God, Hannibal...  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm...sorry..."  
  
*****  
  
He shouldn't have been listening. He knew that. He'd known from the first that he wanted nothing to do with this, he'd seen and heard more than he wanted to, that first day. And yet nothing could keep him from creeping over to the door, opening it just a hair, just a hair...  
  
He could hear Hannibal talking, but he was facing away from Murdock and he couldn't make out everything. He could just see the top of Face's head on the other side of the bed. Sitting on the floor. He wasn't saying anything. Not at first. When he did start talking, Murdock couldn't make it out, the voice so soft and jumbled.  
  
And then Hannibal suddenly stood up.  
  
"Them? This happened more than once?"  
  
Murdock nearly fell through the door. Hannibal paid no attention. Murdock heard the anger and shock in his voice, knew that was bad. Face wouldn't hear the words, he'd hear the tone. Hell, Murdock felt cowed by it. He had to calm Hannibal down, ignore what they were saying. He just wouldn't listen. He'd heard more than enough already. He moved cautiously into the room.  
  
"...he'd leave me alone for...a few days. If we were moving..."  
  
Murdock stopped. What did he mean? A few days? Face hadn't been there only a few days. And moving...  
  
He stopped suddenly as Face started up, tight, jerking motions as he struggled to his feet. Hannibal reached for him, grabbed his arm. Face fought back, pushing, twisting, stumbling toward the door, until Hannibal got hold of both arms, calling Face, trying to calm him down, bring him back.  
  
And then Face just dropped.  
  
Murdock started forward, but Hannibal had him, holding him tightly around the shoulders, talking. But Face was gone, limp in Hannibal's arms. Eyes crunched shut, mumbling fast, frantically.  
  
Murdock backed away. He couldn't see this. Didn't want to see this. Didn't want to know what he knew. Didn't want it. Couldn't see it.  
  
Hannibal turned, looking over his shoulder. "Get out of here, Murdock. Get BA. Now." Voice calm, but commanding.  
  
Murdock nodded, practically ran through the door, out into the parking lot. He saw BA at the van, and did run this time. Grabbed his arm, pointing to the rooms. He couldn't speak. His throat was tight and it hurt to breathe. BA took one look and shook him off, hurrying for the room.  
  
Murdock leaned against the van. He swallowed, then swallowed again. Closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply. This was going all wrong. All wrong. Big time wrong. They were just supposed to find Kyle. That's all. Just find Kyle, and he would tell them that Face didn't blame them, that Face didn't blame him, and then they'd go home and it would all be over. That's all that was supposed to happen. That's all. Not...  
  
Not this shit.  
  
Not this...  
  
**October 13 1976 - 6 Days**  
  
Hannibal stepped out of the door, taking one last look into the room before closing it softly behind him. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work the kinks out, then looked to the east, where the sun was just coming over the horizon. With another glance at the door, he walked heavily toward the van.  
  
He didn't know if he really wasn't surprised, or if emotion of any kind was just beyond him this morning, but he didn't bat an eye when he saw BA seated inside, dozing. Both men had had a frantic night, between Face and Murdock. He shook his head. Another night like that and all four of them would be in the nuthouse.  
  
He slid the side door open as quietly as he could, but of course, BA woke up anyway. They looked at each other for a moment.  
  
"Problem?" BA's voice was tired, resigned.  
  
"No. Not yet. I was looking for those pills Cleary gave me. I think it's time to get Face started on them."  
  
"If it ain't too late."  
  
Hannibal hung his head, trying not to lose his temper. It wasn't an unreasonable assumption. He just didn't want to hear it first thing this morning.  
  
"How's Murdock?" Switch the subject. From frying pan to fire, or was it the other way around?  
  
BA shrugged. "He fell asleep about three, I think. After he counted the ceiling tiles bout a hundred times. At least he didn't keep namin the furniture."  
  
"Just distractions, BA. That's all."  
  
BA just grunted. Hannibal rummaged in the bags in the back until he found the one he was looking for. He sat down on the back seat, holding it loosely in his hand. BA looked at him in the mirror.  
  
"You get any sleep?"  
  
"I don't know. I think so. Maybe." Probably not. Even after he and BA had gotten Face up off the floor and into bed, he hadn't calmed down. He'd stayed somewhere between reality and memories for a long time. After that, Hannibal knew he'd gotten completely lost in the past. The things he'd been saying...living his nightmares. Making Hannibal live them right along with him.  
  
He sighed. "I think we should stay put today. See how things go."  
  
BA stared silently at the dash. "Murdock needs to get back. Quicker the better."  
  
"I know. But I think we all need a day to settle down first. I don't need either of them going off track in the van."  
  
"Yeah. Guess you're right." He twisted in the seat, looking at Hannibal directly. "Murdock goes back to the VA. But what about Face?"  
  
"Do we have a choice? He has to stay with us."  
  
That wasn't what BA wanted to hear. "Didn't you say that doc back in Mobile could get him into a hospital?"  
  
"Yeah, and I vetoed it. Too much chance of his being found. And now that they know who he is..."  
  
"We don't know..."  
  
"Yeah, we do, BA. They know who he is, and they'll be watching the hospitals, you can count on it. So unless you want him locked up in some Army psych ward..."  
  
BA snorted angrily. "You know I don't. I just don't know if we can do this, Hannibal."  
  
"We can because we have to. This is no different than anything else we've done, BA. We do our research, check our resources, and then engage the enemy."  
  
"The enemy?" BA looked at him as if he'd gone nuts as well.  
  
"Yeah, BA. The enemy that's inside that kid's head. I can call Cleary, and once Murdock's back on track, he can do some recon through that doctor of his."  
  
"Yeah, and what about those damn pills? Whaddya gonna do - knock off a drugstore?"  
  
"If I have to, yeah. But I think Murdock can..."  
  
"You ain't gonna have him stealin no pills, Hannibal! You get him into as big a trouble as the rest of us."  
  
Again, Hannibal stopped to quell his temper. "I mean, Murdock can give us the layout of the place, the schedules...and I'll take care of the rest."  
  
"You'll do all that, huh? And what happens if you get caught? What then? And whose gonna keep an eye on him when we're at work? You gonna lock him in the bathroom?"  
  
"You worried about him - or that you'll get stuck with him?"  
  
This time Hannibal got BA's fullest glare. "I'm worried about you goin off half-cocked, and if things blow up in your damn face, he's the one that's gonna pay." He gripped the steering wheel, tight. "I'll do whatever I can for him, Hannibal. But if somethin happens to you, I don't think I could do for him. Not the way he should be done for. And we've fucked him up enough already."  
  
Hannibal winced involuntarily at the term. It reminded him he had one more talk to have.  
  
"How much of what he said last night did you catch, BA?"  
  
BA didn't say anything but kept his tight grip on the wheel.  
  
"BA?"  
  
"I heard enough to know they did things to him. Nasty things. That's all I need to know. That's all I want to know." He suddenly got out of the van, slamming the door, then glaring through the window at Hannibal. "And I mean it. You talk to him all you want about it, but I ain't gonna. Ever."  
  
With that, BA turned on his heel and headed for his room.  
  
Hannibal sat for a moment, eyes closed, listening to the soft morning sounds. Peaceful sounds.  
  
Regretfully, he brought himself back to reality. The reality that he was going to be on his own. BA would do what he could, but only to a point. Hannibal felt a surge of anger. So what if it made BA 'uncomfortable'? People shouldn't just pick and choose what difficulties they were going to deal with, which ones they were going to dump on others.  
  
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He knew he wasn't being fair to BA. This wasn't something the Army trained you for. He could've just walked away, washed his hands of the whole thing. It wasn't his responsibility. Not really. But Hannibal was still Face's CO. Responsible for his well-being. He'd screwed that up once already. Now he'd have to bite the bullet and get his man through this.  
  
He sighed, slowly climbing out of the van and heading back to his room.


	21. Chapter 21

**October 13 1976 - 6 Days**  
  
Murdock woke up sometime mid-morning. His head felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer, and his eyes hurt. He looked around the room, confused for a moment as to where he was. Rooms always looked different in daylight. Everything was right there, not hidden in the shadows from lamps. Sometimes he preferred the shadows.  
  
Maybe today was one of those days.  
  
He sat up slowly, glancing around. He frowned at the empty room. The television was on low, but the bathroom door was open, so he was definitely alone. He lay back down, relieved. He didn't feel like listening to BA telling him to shut up, or Hannibal's calm reasoning. Sometimes it was okay - well, not BA, of course, but he never paid attention to him anyway. But he didn't want Hannibal's reasoning today. Not his reassurances, either. Today he wanted to know what Hannibal was going to do. How he was going to make it right.  
  
That's what Hannibal did.  
  
He stared up at the ceiling tiles. One hundred and seventy-two of them. BA thought he was just acting crazy when he was counting them, but he'd been using them to help keep himself on track. When his thoughts went south, he counted things. By the time he got through counting, the random thoughts, the swirling in his head, all were contained. So there was, indeed, method to his madness.  
  
Pretty much.  
  
He looked over at the door between the rooms. Knew either Hannibal or BA would be in there. Maybe both. Probably both. Unless one of them had gone to get breakfast. Breakfast would be good. He was hungry. Ravenous, actually.  
  
He got up, straightened his clothes, checked his pockets. Empty. He frowned. Hannibal carried their money. If they split up, he'd give BA part of it. Murdock never got to handle it. He'd never questioned it before, but it was a nuisance now. Meant he'd have to go through that door and ask for some just so he could get some breakfast.  
  
He wasn't sure he was that hungry.  
  
He walked around the room, checking out details, moving things here and there, all the while hoping BA or Hannibal would come in. They didn't. He stepped to the door and listened. He could hear voices, soft, calm. Nothing like last night. So maybe Face was sleeping.  
  
Murdock's stomach growled. He opened the door slowly and stepped inside.  
  
The first thing he saw was Hannibal, sitting on the nearest bed, BA next to him, going over a roadmap. Then he saw Face, sitting up on the other bed, back against the headboard, knees up, chin resting on them, arms enfolding them. He was staring straight ahead.  
  
Hannibal looked up, frowning for a split second before smiling softly.  
  
"Morning, Murdock." He didn't ask, but Murdock knew he wanted to know. He smiled back, pleasant, calm. He was okay. Just peachy.  
  
"Morning, Hannibal." He glanced once more at Face, who hadn't moved. "Uh, I was wondering about getting some breakfast."  
  
"Oh, uh, sure." He also looked at Face, then slowly stood and pulled his wallet, handing Murdock a five-dollar bill. "You mind if we don't join you? We're trying to find a good route back to LA, and..."  
  
"No. No problem, Colonel." Murdock smiled again. Reassuring. Normal. He took the money, nodded a few times, and went back to his room, leaving through that door. He didn't know why; just felt...safer that way.  
  
Stepping outside, he closed the door firmly and strode quickly toward the restaurant. Went inside, smiled politely at the waitress, placed his order without discussing each and every item on the menu.  
  
Normal. The word of the day. Normal.  
  
He didn't dawdle over breakfast, either. Didn't want Hannibal to send BA looking for him. They had enough on their minds today. Didn't have to worry about him. No sirree. He was fine.  
  
Just fine.  
  
He paid the bill, pocketed the change, smiled at the cashier and sauntered out into the parking lot. Looked up at the sky. Sunny for a change. That was good. He was good. Life was good.  
  
He moved across the parking lot, smiling. Beautiful day. Beautiful day to be outside. Not inside. Outside. Outside was the sun, and warm air, fresh air. Inside was chaos, uncertainty...  
  
Face.  
  
He stopped, frowning. He'd decided he was going to be Face's friend. Remember that? He was going to be Face's friend. But friends didn't go outside in the sun and warmth when their friends were inside with the chaos and fear and...  
  
Friends helped each other. No matter what the risk. No matter how hard. So Murdock had to help Face. Had to. Somehow. He wasn't sure how, though. He was going to be dumped back at the VA in a couple of days, and Hannibal would take Face someplace else. Someplace hidden. Who knew how long it would be before he saw them again?  
  
He had to do something.  
  
He was almost back to the room when he glanced to the side, to the van. That file was in there. The file Hannibal hadn't let any of them read yet. He stared at the van. Would Hannibal let them read it now? Somehow, he didn't think so. He'd screwed up last night. If he had only held it together better...  
  
And he'd be in the VA. No help at all, stuck in there. He'd be talking to Richter while Face had no one. No one trained. No one who knew when to push and when to back off. Mostly when to back off. Hannibal and BA...they never knew when to back off.  
  
And that wasn't good enough.  
  
Murdock turned and walked quickly to the van, looking over his shoulder at their rooms. He had time, maybe. He didn't know how thick that file was, but maybe...  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal leaned back, stretching slowly, carefully. They'd been looking at the map for a couple hours now, trying to find the shortest route back to LA, while at the same time steering clear of major cities, military bases. It was harder than it had seemed at first, trying to balance time against safety, against the strain of a prolonged drive.  
  
In the end, despite misgivings, they had decided time was the more important factor. They would take the slightly longer route, but drive straight through, starting first thing in the morning. Hannibal figured both Murdock and Face would be ready then. He hoped, anyway.  
  
He sighed, half-heartedly smiling at BA. "Time for a cigar. You, uh..."  
  
"I got him." BA still didn't sound very happy, but at least he hadn't refused to stay. He'd left a couple times that morning when Face had started talking to himself again, but he always came back. Hannibal knew he always would.  
  
Lost in his thoughts, he abruptly got up from the bed. Face jumped like he'd been shot, and cast a panicked look at Hannibal; just as quickly, he turned away, head down, hugging his knees tightly again.  
  
Just about exactly the way Cleary had described his behavior at the hospital in Mobile.  
  
"Sorry, kid." He knew he wouldn't get any acknowledgment, but he wanted Face to hear it anyway. He figured he'd be saying that a lot in the future. He had a lot to be sorry for.  
  
He walked slowly to the door, ignoring BA's head shaking, and slipped out. Face hadn't made any attempts to get out since he'd collapsed last night, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. The last thing Hannibal wanted was Face disappearing into the woods. Not in the state of mind he was in.  
  
He closed the door behind, and immediately felt the tension flood out of his body. He was beginning to wonder if he, himself, would be ready for the trip tomorrow. Or for the months looming ahead.  
  
He stepped determinedly over to the van. He'd have a nice quiet smoke, not think about anything more complicated than which bird was flying by. Just for a few minutes. Murdock would be coming back from his breakfast by then. He'd been more than a little nervous, letting that one go off by himself. But Murdock tended to stay close when he was a little off target. Unless he got hyper, but that was definitely not the case today. Hannibal had no idea how long that would last.  
  
He stepped around to the side of the van, opening the passenger door and reaching for the glove box. He could practically smell that cigar already. And then he stopped, hand in mid-air. Turned slowly and looked in the back.  
  
Where Murdock sat, eyes wide, jaw slack, and beet red, Cleary's file on his lap.  
  
*****  
  
BA tensed at the sudden sound of a door slamming outside. So did Face. BA shook his head as he watched him jerk around to look for the source of the noise, watched the look in his eyes when he caught BA watching him.  
  
BA had told Hannibal he wasn't going to talk about what happened. Told himself he wasn't even going to think about it. But every time he looked at Face, it was right there. It was like when he was a kid, and realized for the first time that his parents were...doing it. It took him a long time to get used to that idea. A long time before the embarrassment went away and he accepted that it was just a fact of life. But this...this just wasn't right.  
  
Or natural.  
  
He looked down at the map, concentrating on it, even though he knew exactly where they'd be going. Anything to get those thoughts, those...pictures out of his head. Knowing damn well it wasn't Face's fault.  
  
Wiley. Wiley had done this to Face.  
  
He'd done it to all of them. BA didn't like to think about that, either. But it was hard not to see things the way they were. Not now. Ray had noticed it right away, told BA straight out Wiley was jealous of Face. BA hadn't believed him. Chose instead to listen to all the little things Wiley mentioned, the things that made BA wonder about Face, wonder if he could be trusted. Made him think he couldn't be.  
  
The LT hadn't helped any. Never talked about himself. Never let anyone know how he got all that stuff. Then shacking up with that gook, down there in Saigon...never telling anyone what happened. Damn Face never trusted them; why should they trust him?  
  
He didn't deserve what happened, but Wiley had done what he thought best. For the team. Always had. BA still couldn't forgive him, but he could understand it. Wiley might've been jealous, but he wouldn't do that out of pettiness. He just wouldn't. But that didn't change what happened to Face, didn't make it easier to think about, to accept.  
  
BA hadn't forgotten what it was like in Chow's camp. Knew how much power the guards had over every damn bit of the prisoners' lives. Knew it was different over there in Laos, too. He'd seen the villages the PL went through, what they did to the people in them.  
  
BA sat up straighter. He knew Face had been on his own after Hanson died. That made a difference. Before, they'd had each other to keep going. To look out for each other. Just like the team, out in the boonies. Knowing there was someone there, watching out for each other...it mattered. It mattered a lot.  
  
Still, BA couldn't help thinking there must have been something he could've done, something to stop it. Look how he'd worked things back in Chow's camp. Hate it as he might, BA knew if it hadn't been for the LT, they wouldn't have gotten out of there. Hell, there had to have been something Peck could've done. A man just wouldn't let that happen to him. BA sure as hell wouldn't have. No way. He'd rather die than...He sighed, suddenly, staring blindly at the map. Seeing Mama's face, glaring at him. Be honest. He didn't know what he would've done. Especially if he thought no one was ever coming for him. If he thought his own people had deserted him. Dying would be easy. Would be just giving up. Letting them win. He knew Face wouldn't do that. BA smiled, sadly. The LT never gave in. And he knew Face had done whatever he had to, just to survive.  
  
He looked over at him now, still sitting there, head on his knees, eyes closed. Keeping the world out. Keeping them out.  
  
Still just trying to survive.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal backed out of the van and slammed the side door open, climbing in and grabbing the file from Murdock. Trying to keep his temper in check, he glanced through the folder before turning his attention back to Murdock.  
  
"How much did you read?" Stay calm, reasonable.  
  
"I...I..."  
  
"Murdock, how much?"  
  
Murdock swallowed. "I just glanced through it, Colonel. I didn't have a chance to read anything." He swallowed again. "Honest."  
  
Hannibal relaxed, sat down on the back seat, still looking at Murdock. "If I thought there was anything in there that you or BA needed to see, I would have shown it to you. You know that."  
  
Murdock squirmed but said nothing.  
  
"Why did you want to read it?"  
  
"I just thought...if I knew what it said, I could talk to Richter about him. Maybe get some ideas for you and BA..."  
  
"You were going to tell Richter about Face?" Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment. He never expected that. "Murdock, you know you can't tell anyone - and I mean, anyone - about Face. Or about us."  
  
Murdock frowned. "I know that, Hannibal. Geez. I was just going to tell him it was a friend of mine. I mean, I have to some reason for taking off for almost three weeks, right? So I figured if I told him I'd heard a friend of mine was in trouble, and that's why I took off, and then I could tell him about my friend, and...." His shoulders dropped. "I just wanted to help, Hannibal."  
  
"Murdock, I appreciate what you wanted to do. But you can't. Okay? There will be other ways you can help us out. But not like this." He waited until Murdock nodded. "Good. Now, did you take your pills this morning?"  
  
"Yes, Dad." Hannibal stiffened at the sarcasm, until Murdock smiled apologetically. He didn't quite believe that performance but decided to let it go.  
  
"All right. Why don't you go back in, watch some television, get some sleep. We're staying here till morning, and then we're driving straight through to LA, so I want you well rested." Murdock started to protest, but Hannibal interrupted. "You can't help with Face if you're exhausted yourself, right?"  
  
Murdock gave in. Unhappily, Hannibal knew. The two men climbed out of the van, and he watched until Murdock had closed the door to his room. Sighing, he went back for his cigar, stuffing the folder into the glove box and locking it. Leaning against the door, he stared across the parking lot, thinking about Murdock, Face and yes, even BA.  
  
Had he bitten off more than he could chew? Been too quick to refuse Cleary's offer of finding a place for Face? Obviously, he would be better off in a hospital than stuck with Hannibal and BA. But would he end up in another one like that Southern Life? No, Cleary would steer them clear of those. If he could. But what kind of hospital - what kind of people - would accept a patient using a false name? The greedy kind. The kind who'd sell their mothers out for the right sum. And if the Army got wind of it, he'd be in Leavenworth's prison ward before you could shake a stick at it. Hannibal could imagine what would happen there.  
  
No. He'd made the only choice he could. He would not take any more chances on somebody else taking care of his lieutenant. On anybody else's word.  
  
His jaw tightened. How could he have been so blind? He trusted Wiley. Believed in him. Enough that he allowed himself to walk away from Face without checking. Without being sure. Just walked away and left Face to Harry.  
  
Harry. Just the thought of what he'd done...He remembered hearing the stories of the POWs in Korea. It had sickened him but had scared the hell out of him as well. Learning it had happened to one of his own...He should've remembered that name. Arne had mentioned him in his letter to Ray. Just a brief mention, a side note really, but read less than a month ago. Nothing in Arnhold's letter had said anything about...that. Just that the bastard had been Face's nemesis almost from the day he'd been captured. Hannibal hadn't really paid attention to the name. Just a nickname. Meaningless at the time.  
  
But he should've remembered.  
  
If he had, he would've approached Face much differently. More carefully. Less direct. Hannibal grimaced. Less 'get over it'. Hell, he probably wouldn't have approached him at all until they'd gotten back to LA. Instead, he'd been taken off guard, the reality suddenly shoved into the open, the anger and disgust...and no matter what he said, Face still thought that had been directed at him.  
  
If only he'd remembered, and put two and two together.  
  
Damn it!  
  
He tossed the cigar to the ground, grinding it into a pulp with his shoe. Enough of the what if's, and if only's. That was the past. Now he had to look out for his men. All of them. All of them hurting; in different ways, to different degrees, but hurting just the same. And one by one, he had to fix them. Like it or not. He thought with distaste of what he'd told Face last night. Accept it like a man and move on.  
  
Hell of a lot easier said than done.


	22. Chapter 22

**October 13 1976 - 6 Days**  
  
Face had stayed on guard, checking out everyone who came in or out of the room, burying himself back in solitude once assured no intrusions were coming his way. He didn't even try figuring out what their plans were now. He was too busy trying to keep the memories at bay.  
  
Murdock would wander into Face's room, stand at the foot of the bed, waiting for him to look up. He never did, and Murdock would wander back to the other room, where Face could hear voices. Sometimes Murdock and BA, sometimes only the rumble from the television.  
  
Hannibal had been on the other bed, reading through some papers. A quick glance revealed several pill bottles peeking out from the bag beside him. Face had felt a sudden flare of anger. Cleary had tried that, shoving him full of pills, trying to make him 'normal'. So he said. All they did was make the memories come back stronger. As if he needed that.  
  
The day had passed, although he hadn't really noticed. The sun through the window seemed to shift in spurts. Someone would step over to the bed, Hannibal or Murdock. Ask if he was okay. That's how he knew he'd said something out loud. Made him try harder to stay focused. They knew too much already.  
  
Sometime after the sun had disappeared, and the lights were turned on, Hannibal told him they would be leaving in the morning, early, so he should try to sleep. Just like he put those sandwiches on the table, told him he should eat. Face couldn't eat, not when he kept having those waves of nausea. He didn't want to try sleeping; that would leave him wide open to all the thoughts he was fighting.  
  
They didn't understand. How could they? He thought about the drive to LA. He didn't want to go, didn't want to be in the van, or some motel room. Didn't want to be around them. He just wanted to be left alone. Totally alone.  
  
He wanted out.  
  
They'd be going through the mountains. Familiar terrain. He could disappear into those rocks and trees and never be found. Never have to hear the disgust in Hannibal's voice, see the scorn in BA's eyes, or feel Murdock's pity. Never have to talk to them, or anyone else, ever again. Hellish as they'd been at times, he longed for those eight months in the jungle. At least he'd been free. Maybe for the only time in his life.  
  
At some point during the night, he had found it almost impossible to stay awake. He looked over at Hannibal, who was stretched out, snoring lightly. Face knew he'd be awake in a moment if Face had another dream. He slid slowly off the bed, waiting for some sign that the colonel was waking up, and finally made his way carefully to the bathroom, carrying a pillow and blanket. He tried not to but felt compelled to check the lock twice before he felt comfortable. He left the overhead light on, folded the blanket around him and lay down on the floor.  
  
The next thing he knew, Hannibal was knocking rapidly on the door. He sat up stiffly, a feeling of dread almost immediately filling him.  
  
Time to head to LA.  
  
**October 14 1976 - 7 Days**  
  
Hannibal woke to BA shaking his shoulder. Roughly. He opened his eyes, squinting up.  
  
"Where's Face?" BA's whisper told him Murdock was still asleep. Good.  
  
"He's in the bathroom. He slept there last night."  
  
BA straightened, glaring at the bathroom door. "What the hell did he do that for?"  
  
"I suppose he wanted some privacy. Or didn't want to wake any of us up."  
  
"He all right?"  
  
"Nothing in there he could hurt himself with." Hannibal sat up, looking at his watch. Five o'clock. He stretched, then climbed out of bed. BA looked at him and he realized he was still fully dressed. He shrugged. "You ready to head out then?"  
  
"Might as well. I'll get Murdock up if you wanna get him out." He headed back to his room, then stopped. "Unless you gonna need help."  
  
"He's not homicidal, BA, so no. I won't need any help."  
  
BA shrugged and left. He could hear him telling Murdock to get his ass out of bed, and Murdock's mumbled response. He smiled and headed for the bathroom. At least those two seemed more themselves today.  
  
He rapped lightly on the door, got no response. He knocked a little louder, a little faster, and heard some shuffling inside. He breathed a sigh of relief, despite what he'd told BA. A moment later he heard the door being unlocked, and he stepped back as it opened. No sense starting the day by scaring the hell out of the guy.  
  
He looked like hell, but then that wasn't unexpected. He hesitated before coming out, and still wouldn't look Hannibal in the eye as he passed. Hannibal pursed his lips; Cleary had said Face wasn't really combative, just extremely self-protective. So, new day, new start.  
  
He walked around and sat on the bed, across from Face. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking uncomfortable but not as tense as he'd been yesterday. Hannibal smiled softly.  
  
"We're going for breakfast before we hit the road, kid. I think you should come with us. Get some fresh air, decent food. What do you say?"  
  
Face glanced up at him, and Hannibal could see the uncertainty. Yeah, kid, your choice. No demands, no orders. Not yet.  
  
Finally, Face nodded. Hannibal looked him over - he didn't look that bad. Getting him into the restaurant would be victory enough; forget a shower and cleanup.  
  
BA and Murdock came in a few minutes later, and for a moment, Hannibal thought Face was going to change his mind. But after that first tension, he followed Murdock out the door, followed closely by Hannibal and BA. Hannibal figured BA had the same thoughts - Face might be going along just in case he could slip away from them.  
  
Hannibal was thinking things were starting to get back into their routine, such as it was. Face ordered what Murdock ordered, ate quietly, keeping an eye on the others, but seemed relatively calm. Murdock wasn't quite up to snuff, but at least he wasn't hyper, which was a blessing. BA seemed to be watching Murdock more and completely ignoring Face, which was worrisome, but again, something that could wait. They'd have a long time to work out that problem.  
  
Things continued smoothly, other than Face taking one last look at the hills before he got into the van. A reminder to Hannibal that they weren't out of the woods yet. All he could hope for is that things stayed calm until they got to LA. After that, everything was up for grabs.  
  
*****  
  
They were moving further into the mountains, trying to skirt the main thoroughfares, but making good time just the same. Hannibal was keeping an eye on Murdock, whom he knew was keeping an eye on Face. So far, all was quiet on both fronts. They made a quick stop for lunch at another small roadside cafe. Again, things went well; if one didn't know better, they would never guess that these were anything but four friends traveling together.  
  
In fact, things were going so smoothly, Hannibal decided they were ready to take the next step. He reached into his pocket and placed three pills on the table beside Face.  
  
"I'd like you to take these, Face. I got them from Dr Cleary. You remember him? He said they would help you feel better."  
  
Face stared at the pills for a moment, then slowly picked them up. Hannibal wasn't sure if Face was still feeling 'obedient' or if he just didn't care, but Hannibal felt like crowing.  
  
Face held them for a moment, then very calmly dumped the pills in the ashtray, before standing up and walking toward the door.  
  
"Damn..." Murdock slumped in his chair.  
  
Hannibal sighed as BA got up and followed Face. He fished the pills out of the ashtray - nothing like leaving a neon sign for the waitress - and went to pay the bill. Murdock stayed close.  
  
"Think he'll ever take them, Colonel?"  
  
Hannibal grabbed a toothpick and almost sauntered to the door.  
  
"Oh, yeah, Murdock. He'll take them."  
  
*****  
  
Murdock was getting bored. Very bored. He'd been watching Face - surreptitiously, of course - but all he did was stare out the window. Murdock had asked BA to turn on the radio, and just gotten a glare in the mirror. Even Hannibal didn't seem to want to talk. They just kept driving.  
  
And the longer they drove, the closer they got to the VA. And Murdock still hadn't seen that file. After that little scene at the restaurant, Murdock was surer than ever that they were going to need Richter's advice.  
  
Hannibal might think Face would eventually take those pills, but Murdock didn't. He'd seen that momentary glint in Face's eye when he dropped them in the ashtray. Not like he was angry. More like he thought it was funny. No. That wasn't it, either.  
  
Was he challenging Hannibal?  
  
Murdock looked to the front, thinking about what Hannibal had said after that. Shook his head. Just like Nam. Hannibal had fallen for it.  
  
But that didn't make sense. Face sure hadn't acted like he wanted to challenge anyone yesterday. Or this morning. So why now?  
  
He looked back. Face was still staring out of the window, but something was different. He wasn't just watching the scenery go by. Murdock had seen that look on his face before. Many times. And again, it had been back in Nam. He'd get that same look.  
  
Every time he was planning something.  
  
*****  
  
BA rolled his shoulders, keeping his eye on the road. He wasn't really stiff, just...restive. And he knew Hannibal had noticed. But Hannibal had his way of doing things; sure as hell didn't need - or want - BA's opinion. Not where Face was concerned.  
  
"Care to tell me what's bothering you, BA?"  
  
BA frowned. Damn Hannibal. The voice had been soft, but not so he could pretend not to have heard.  
  
"Nothin."  
  
Hannibal pulled out a cigar, rolling the window down a few inches before lighting it. "Is that the same nothing that has you ignoring Face? Or is it the nothing that has you practically crushing the steering wheel?"  
  
BA deliberately loosened his grip. He hated it when Hannibal noticed the wrong things.  
  
He glanced in the mirror at Face, still in his spot at the rear of the van. Forced himself to keep his voice down. "You shouldn't'a let him get by with dumpin them pills."  
  
Hannibal sighed. "One, it wasn't the place or time for a fight. Two, I may have let him win the battle, but the war is far from over."  
  
"Dammit, Hannibal, quit actin like this is some damn contest! It ain't. You gonna start doin the same dance you did back then, and look what that gotcha both."  
  
The minute he said it, he knew he shouldn't have.  
  
Hannibal tossed the cigar out the window. He took a quick look toward the back before leaning over toward BA. "In case you've forgotten, Sergeant, I wasn't the one who told us Face was dead. That, Sergeant, was your best friend. Remember?"  
  
"And you was the one that took that job in the first place! Only reason you didn't turn it down was cause Face said there was somethin off about it. And you had to prove him wrong!"  
  
"I had no choice!"  
  
"You always got a choice!"  
  
"Guys! Guys!" Murdock leaned forward. "Getting a little loud." He nodded toward the back.  
  
BA looked in the mirror. Face was looking toward the front, but there was no sign he'd heard their actual words. BA gripped the steering wheel, glaring at the road.  
  
Hannibal turned in his seat, back ramrod straight, and Murdock slowly sat back in his seat. BA glanced in the mirror again. Face was looking out the window.  
  
BA knew he should've kept his mouth shut. Couldn't tell Hannibal nothin.  
  
Not where Face was concerned.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock slowly ran the spoon through the mashed potatoes, watching as the gravy slid through the channel he made. Like a river. A muddy, sluggish river, but a river, just the same. He heard Hannibal clear his throat and looked up to see his warning frown. He smiled and scooped up some of the offending potatoes, waving the spoon cheerfully in the air.  
  
"Knock it off, fool."  
  
Ah, the familiar low growl from BA. Hadn't heard from him in at least five minutes. Not since the meatloaf. The man was no fun at all. But then, neither was Hannibal. Maybe they could sit in that van for hours at a time, but he couldn't. Not with all that energy building up. And they wouldn't let him talk. He'd only wanted them to see the things he was seeing, the things hiding in the brush alongside the road. It wasn't as if they were bad things. And some of them were actually real.  
  
Those two just had no imagination.  
  
He looked over at Face. Face had too much imagination. That's why he let the dreams take over. Murdock knew about that. Face hadn't learned how to reign them in yet, pull himself out of the nightmares.  
  
"I can drive for the next stretch if you want, BA. It's what, four, five hours?" Hannibal's voice was almost conciliatory. Not quite. BA was still too uptight to accept that. Hannibal knew BA so well. Murdock smiled.  
  
"Yeah. I can drive it. If everybody'd just keep their mouths shut."  
  
Oh, BA, don't start it up again. Don't need another argument. And he's sitting right there. Not like he can't hear you.  
  
"Everybody's tired, BA. That's why we stopped. Give everybody a break." Uh-oh. Little edgy there, Hannibal. Cool it. Coooool it.  
  
Dark clouds moving in. Stop it, you two. Relax. Relax. BA, you've still got some milk left. Good for settling your stomach, but you can blow bubbles in it, too. Loosen up. Have some fun. I could show you...no, no. Settle down, Murdock. Calm. Calm...  
  
"Yeah. Okay, Hannibal. Okay."  
  
Good. Good. You know he couldn't help it, BA. I didn't like hearing it either, but that's what happens when you dream bad things. It all comes out, like it or not.  
  
Face suddenly stood up and Murdock jumped. Just a little. Watched as Face headed toward the men's room. He still hadn't said anything to anybody. Still wouldn't look anybody in the eye. Murdock sighed. Not your fault, Face. Why won't you believe that?  
  
He looked over at BA and Hannibal. They were watching Face's progress across the room. He walked a little stiffly. All those hours in the van, never moving. Hannibal frowned, and Murdock looked over at Face. He was studying the door to the men's room. Shit. No lock, is there, Face?  
  
Murdock stood up quickly and walked casually across the room. He wanted to rush over, but he didn't. Face wouldn't like it if he made a scene. Take your own advice, Murdock. Cool it. Calm. Natural. Normal.  
  
"Hey, Face. Just stretching my legs." Yeah, you don't believe it, do you, Face? You can see through everything. "Maybe we can take a walk before we head out again. Get some fresh air. I'll just wait out here for you, okay?"  
  
There's that look. Grateful. Embarrassed. Sad. It's okay, Face. We'll fix it. We will.  
  
That's what we do.  
  
*****  
  
BA watched Face, making sure he was headed for the men's room and not the exit. Just for a moment, he hoped Face would turn. Make a run for the door. Just for a moment.  
  
Long enough.  
  
That bothered him. Not nearly as much as not knowing what he would have done if Face had taken off. He knew he'd have gone after him; Hannibal would expect that. But if it were just BA's choice?  
  
Murdock had gone over there now, talking to him. Like Murdock would be any help.  
  
"You have to take it easy on him, BA. Not only because it just makes things worse for him. It gets to Murdock as well. We don't need two of them going -"  
  
"You're right there, Hannibal. We don't need two of them. Sooner we get Murdock back to the VA, the better."  
  
"And what about Face?"  
  
BA sighed. Looked down at his plate. What about Face? They had to take care of him. They owed him that. They had to try and make it up to him. Make it up for Wiley. Still...  
  
"I can't deal with that shit, Hannibal. Tol you that already. And I still think we gotta find some place for him. Hell, how we gonna help him when he won't even look at us?"  
  
"We have to make him realize it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could do. Then..." Hannibal looked away.  
  
"You sure of that, are you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That there was nothin he could do? I mean, I'm just sayin. Maybe not the first time, but...maybe he figured it was the only way to stay alive."  
  
"BA..."  
  
"What would you have done, Hannibal?"  
  
The colonel didn't answer. Like BA figured. He wasn't the only one thinking about that.  
  
"I'm gonna go gas up the van. I'll bring it back around when I'm done."  
  
BA got up and strode to the door. Murdock smiled as he passed by.  
  
Damn fool. Like there was anything to smile about.  
  
*****  
  
"What would you have done, Hannibal?"  
  
Hannibal stared, speechless, at BA. What the hell...? Before he could find his voice, BA was up, heading for the door.  
  
Was that what was really bothering BA? Did he really, honestly think Face had any choice?  
  
But then, BA hadn't seen Cleary's files. Didn't know what Face had been like when they found him. In the hospital. That was someone who was living on pure instinct. Not someone who made rational decisions. BA didn't know that.  
  
Hannibal would have to tell him. He'd keep that file to himself, but he could tell BA what he needed to know. No way in hell was he going to go on thinking Face chose that. Whether that would make it easier or harder, Hannibal didn't know. Didn't care. BA wasn't going to use his dislike of Face to turn this around on him.  
  
Time for BA to grow up.  
  
He reached into his pocket for a cigar. Came up empty. He sighed. He'd gone through way too many of those this trip. He'd have to catch up with BA and get one out of the glove compartment. He definitely needed a long, quiet smoke before getting back on the road. He could grab a cigar, come back and have that with a last cup of coffee...He wouldn't be gone but a minute.  
  
He walked past Murdock. Face was still inside, but that didn't worry him. It took time to check every nook and cranny, and then recheck them. Looking for the Bogeyman.  
  
"Back in a minute, Murdock. Holler if..."  
  
Murdock smiled back, nodding.  
  
Right, Murdock. And you're just fine, too.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock leaned against the wall, watching through the window as Hannibal followed the trail of the van toward the gas station next door. See? They knew he was okay now. If they didn't, they wouldn't have left him here with Face, all by his lonesome.  
  
Nice going, Murdock.  
  
He frowned. Looking quickly around the room, he sidled over, putting his ear against the door to the men's room. Jumped back when he heard a bang from inside. Sighed. Face, still checking the stalls. That would be the...third time. Man, he had Murdock beat all hollow when it came to paranoid. Bet he didn't have the menagerie in his head that Murdock did, though.  
  
He leaned back against the wall, deflated. That was not how normal people think. It's not a crazy contest. His lips pursed. He knew how it felt to be paranoid about everything; the first few months at the VA he'd checked every inch of his room every night, every morning. Including the dresser drawers. Especially those.  
  
He looked up as a couple walked past, the woman moving abruptly to the other side of the man. Away from Murdock. Damn. Had he been talking out loud again? Shit. He'd better get his act together. Hannibal was trusting him. Don't screw that up.  
  
Speaking of Hannibal...  
  
Murdock stepped toward the window, looking over at the gas station. Too many big rigs over there. Couldn't see the van at all. He glanced back. He hoped Face was okay, hadn't gone off into the netherworld in there. Maybe he should go in and check...no. No, that wouldn't work. No sirree...  
  
He looked out the window again. A movement to the side caught his eye. Aw. Some lady out there, trying to hang on to her kid and a big bag of groceries. Cute kid, but sure wasn't cooperating. He glanced back at the door, then looked back at the woman. That kid was bound and determined to get away. Too much traffic out there. Way too much.  
  
One more glance at the door. It shouldn't take that long to put a bag of groceries in the car for that lady. That's what a gentleman would do. Face would.  
  
He wouldn't be gone only a minute...


	23. Chapter 23

**October 14 1976 - 7 Days**  
  
He'd awakened to BA's angry warning.  
  
"Shut him up, Hannibal. I mean it!"  
  
"He's awake, BA." Murdock's voice was tense, almost as angry as BA's.  
  
Face forced himself to stay awake after that. He'd tried, very hard, not to react to what was going on around him. Not in the van, not here. He knew something was going on between BA and Hannibal, and he'd had a pretty good idea what it was, but it had been that exchange in the van that confirmed it. And with BA's last comment, Face had to get away. Because he knew BA was only saying what the others were thinking.  
  
Now, standing in the men's room, back against the door, he tried to relax, tried to stop that buzzing from taking over again. He should get out. Now. Before...  
  
Before what?  
  
He paced across the floor, hesitating at the stalls. Six of them. Doors closed. They were empty. He knew that. Stepped past the first one. Swung back, slamming the door open.  
  
See? Empty.  
  
He went down the row, shoving every door wide open. All empty.  
  
He was alone.  
  
That's what he wanted. That's all he'd wanted.  
  
He went back toward the door, the buzzing persistent in his head. Fought it down. Not now. Not here.  
  
Murdock was out there. Guarding the door. Guarding it. Like Face needed protection. He didn't need that. He could take care of himself. Look what he'd survived. He didn't need them. He didn't need anyone.  
  
He looked across the room. One window, high up. He could reach that. He could slip out, take off, never have to see any of them again. He started walking toward it, felt the excitement. On his own again. No one belittling him. No one looking down at him.  
  
He stopped by the first stall. He'd already checked them. They were empty. He was sure of that. Sure of it.  
  
The echo of the banging doors faded away as he stopped in front of the window. He could reach that. Be free. Free of them.  
  
But he didn't climb up to the window. He didn't race off into the darkness. He stood for another moment, staring at nothing. His head was a mass of swirling pictures - pictures from Nam, before the robbery, before Chow's camp. Before it all went wrong.  
  
And just as suddenly, it was all gone. The pictures. The thoughts. The buzzing. The energy that went with it. All gone. He rubbed his hands over his face, hard. What the hell was the matter with him? Everything was so complicated now. They were out there, waiting for him. Why? Why? If only he understood...so much he didn't understand. So much confusion. Too many questions, decisions, feelings...he felt he really was going mad at times.  
  
He stared at the door for a long moment. Enough. Enough. No more thinking. He'd do what he needed to, when he needed to. That's all he could do now. He took a long shuddering breath and opened the door.  
  
Murdock wasn't there.  
  
Face frowned, stepped out into the restaurant. Their table was empty, the waitress clearing off the dishes, and no one waiting by the door. He stepped outside. Looked quickly in all directions. A couple of hunters talking by their pickup, a woman standing by her car, trucks pulling in and out of the station.  
  
No Murdock. No BA. No Hannibal.  
  
The van was gone.  
  
Face's breath left him. He stepped to the side, still looking, more frantically now. He moved down the sidewalk, along the front of the restaurant, away from the lights, the trucks, the people. Moving without even realizing he was. Bumped into a corner, stepped out on the blacktop, still looking.  
  
He kept moving. Had to keep moving.  
  
*****  
  
There were two things that Murdock had never really gotten the hang of - females for one. Well, mothers, anyway. Children were the other. Probably because he didn't have that much experience with either. When he'd rushed out to help the mother, he had no idea that she would see his arrival as anything other than the help she so badly needed. Nor did he have any clue that children were so aggressive.  
  
The first thing the woman did when he came bouncing up to the car was step back and drop her grocery bag. Still stepping back, pulling roughly on her son, she brought up her key chain - with attached pepper spray. Murdock immediately stepped back, hands in the air.  
  
"Whoa! Whoa! Just here to help, lady! No harm, no foul! Honest injun!"  
  
It took a moment before the woman lowered the pepper spray, but she still grasped the kid's hand tightly. He squirmed, trying to get loose.  
  
Murdock grinned and knelt down in front of him. "Hey, buddy. You don't want to go running around here. Too many big trucks."  
  
For his efforts, Murdock received a well-placed and hefty blow to the nose.  
  
Her bag of groceries already laying in ruins on the ground, the woman swept up her son and quickly placed him in the car, all the while keeping a wary eye on Murdock. He sat on the ground, gingerly feeling his bruised nose, thankful there was only a small trickle of blood. Once the little monster was in the car, Murdock scrambled up and began picking up the scattered remains of the woman's groceries.  
  
"Please, just leave me alone! I can manage!" The woman was grabbing items from him as quickly as he picked them up.  
  
"I'm just trying to help, lady."  
  
"I don't need your help! Now please! Leave me alone!" She tossed the remainder of her groceries, along with the torn bag, in the back seat and slammed the door. She gave him one last glare and plopped herself in the driver's seat. The car backed away so quickly the fender nearly took Murdock's leg with it. He jumped back just in time, and stared, forlornly, as the taillights disappeared into the night.  
  
Shaking his head, he turned and moved back to the restaurant. He frowned, cocking his head to one side. Damn. That looked like Face.  
  
No. That was Face.  
  
Hurrying off toward the gas station...  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal finally found the van on the far row of gas pumps. BA looked up from under the hood, dip stick in hand, concern immediately on his face.  
  
"Problem?"  
  
"No, just needed a cigar." Hannibal smiled, trying to hide the feeling he'd been gone too long. No point in getting BA riled up again.  
  
"You left those two alone so you could get a damn cigar?" He slid the oil stick back in place and slammed the hood down.  
  
"I only planned on being gone a minute or two. I didn't realize you'd be parked in Zanzibar."  
  
BA shook his head, climbing into the van. "Well, get in and let's get back before one of em screws up."  
  
Hannibal frowned but climbed in. "We get back to LA, I think you and I need to have a talk, BA. Just get some ground rules straight."  
  
"I already give you my ground rules, Hannibal."  
  
"Okay..." Hannibal waited while BA maneuvered a little too quickly between the semis, "let's say we need to come to an understanding. And then we'll make some new ground rules."  
  
BA shot a glare at Hannibal but said nothing. Moments later they parked in front of the restaurant. Hannibal quickly opened the glove box, feeling that he definitely needed that cigar now, but BA was staring through the restaurant's windows.  
  
"Hannibal - where are they?"  
  
*****  
  
Shit! Shit! Shit!  
  
Murdock ran along the sidewalk, trying to keep Face in sight. He'd had a good head start, and was walking fast. Real fast. Murdock nearly panicked when Face started across the parking lot, seemingly ignoring the trucks lumbering past him.  
  
Not good, not good. Hannibal's gonna kill me for sure...  
  
Murdock lost sight of him as he made his own way through the traffic. He stopped on the other side, breathing hard, frantically looking in every direction. Why the hell had he gone out to help that woman anyway? Not thinking straight. Not thinking. But he knew damn well what Face was thinking.  
  
He caught a movement, off to his left. Yeah, that was Face. Heading for the lake now. He started running. Why the hell did they have to stop at the only lake within a thousand miles, anyway?  
  
Hannibal's gonna kill me.  
  
He moved off the blacktop, his feet sliding on gravel. Face hadn't slowed down one bit. Murdock caught his balance and sped up. Had to catch up before he reached the water. Didn't know what Face had planned, but Murdock had to catch him before he did whatever it was he planned. Had to. This was all his fault. Damn. All his fault.  
  
Murdock damn near cried when Face stopped within a few feet of the water. Just stopped. Murdock slowed to a fast walk, then slowed down to a casual stroll as he came up closer.  
  
"Hey, Face. Decided to go for that walk without me?"  
  
Face kept staring at the water. In the moonlight, Murdock could see his jaw, clenched tight. Had to hurt.  
  
"Uh, Face, sorry I wasn't there when you came out. There was this lady out in the parking lot, and she needed some help, so I just...I just stepped out quick to help her out, y'know?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Look, Face, I'm sorry. I know what it must've looked like. But I wouldn't leave you, man. I wouldn't."  
  
Face finally turned and looked at him. Right at him.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Murdock blinked. Oh, boy. He should've expected that. Now he had to tell him.  
  
"Because I did once before. I was the pilot who picked up Sergeant Arnhold in Laos." Even in the moonlight, Murdock could see Face go pale. He hurried on; best to get it all out in the open. "The locals went back into the jungle looking for you and Kyle. They found Kyle, but Arne thought it was you. He wanted to go back for the...body, but I decided it was too dangerous. And I didn't find out until the next day, back at base, that you were there at all. If I had known...no, no, I should've just gone back for the body. And then Arne would've realized...and then we coulda sent somebody to look for you and...and dammit, Face, I'm sorry. Ever since I found out...it's just...I can't...I'm just...I'm sorry, Face. I'm sorry. But see, that's why you know it won't ever happen again. I won't let it happen again. Ever."  
  
Face had turned back to the water. Staring out at it.  
  
"Face?" Murdock licked his lips; they felt like sandpaper. "Face, I really, really am sorry."  
  
Face looked at him one more time. Again, right at him.  
  
"You think I give a flying fuck, Murdock? You think 'sorry' makes it all right? Fuck you!" Face turned and started striding away. He stopped, shouting over his shoulder. "You're just the last nail in the coffin Smith built, Captain. He's the reason I was there in the first place. Where's his fucking apology?"  
  
Murdock watched, stricken, as Face disappeared into the darkness.  
  
*****  
  
BA was out of the van almost as fast as Hannibal, hurrying right behind him into the restaurant. Hannibal nodded toward the men's room, and BA turned immediately to check it out. Hannibal made for the waitress at the counter. She looked up, a bit surprised, but smiled.  
  
"Hi, there! I thought you-all had left already."  
  
Hannibal smiled back. "A little mix-up. You didn't happen to see our friends leave, did you?"  
  
"Yeah, at least the tall guy. He took off a few minutes after you left. Kinda sudden-like."  
  
"And the other man?"  
  
She shook her head. "No, I didn't see him."  
  
BA came up just then, shaking his head. Nodding his head in thanks at the waitress, Hannibal led the way back outside.  
  
"Okay, she said Murdock left very suddenly just after I did. She didn't see Face, so I have a feeling..."  
  
"Face got away from him. Damn." BA shook his head, looking around the truck stop. Too many people, trucks, cars.  
  
Hannibal headed immediately for a group of hunters standing around a pickup. He described first Murdock, then Face. They'd seen Murdock heading for the gas station. One of them thought he'd seen Face, but hadn't really paid attention. Hannibal moved on, stopping a couple just outside the gas station. They hadn't seen Murdock but had seen Face heading away from the station, toward the lake.  
  
BA sighed, looking at Hannibal. "Split up?"  
  
Hannibal didn't answer right away. He had to think. And fast. Splitting up would be the logical choice, but then again...  
  
Murdock had been getting more and more freaky but hadn't gone overboard. Not yet. Hannibal didn't know how Face had gotten away from him, but at least Murdock had apparently had the presence of mind to follow. Even if he lost track of Face, Hannibal figured Murdock would just go back to the restaurant and wait for the others. One benefit of Murdock being off kilter - if things started getting beyond his control, he'd usually head for safe territory instead of getting himself more confused.  
  
Usually.  
  
It was more important to find Face. Hannibal had no idea what that guy was thinking, or even if he was thinking; he could be running purely on instinct. The need to get away from them, the situation, his own screwed up thoughts...anything. And if that was his mindset, anybody who got in his way could end up with major damage.  
  
He glanced at BA. Major damage was also the reason he didn't want BA working alone. The combination of an out-of-control Face and a resentful BA could destroy any chance those two had of reconciling. More importantly, it could push Face so far away from all of them that Cleary's solution would be the only option left. Ironically, Hannibal did want BA close at hand when they found Face, just in case Hannibal couldn't talk him down. It wasn't an alternative he wanted to think about, and he was quite sure it wouldn't be necessary - but no way in hell was he letting Face go. Not now.  
  
"Hannibal? We gonna split up or what?"  
  
"Or what, BA. We look for Face first. Murdock will find us."  
  
BA shook his head, but Hannibal ignored him. He started walking in the direction Face had gone. Fast. Hannibal wasn't forgetting about that damn lake.  
  
*****  
  
How far Face walked, he had no idea. Had no idea where he was walking. He only knew that he couldn't stop. Had to get away from Murdock, from Hannibal, from everyone. Had to. Otherwise...  
  
He couldn't get away from those thoughts. Those words. Arne. Murdock had been so close... All those months with Harry...in the jungle...all those months...If only he'd...  
  
No. It wasn't Murdock's fault. Much as he'd like to blame him. Much as he'd like to hate him for it. Murdock didn't know.  
  
Hannibal did.  
  
Hannibal was the one who left him. Left him trapped, surrounded by gooks. Thought he'd be killed. Surprise, Colonel. Didn't die. Not then. Not the way you planned.  
  
Face thought about the last couple of days. The looks. The words. Bringing it all back. Making him feel like something...dirty. Like he hadn't tried. They didn't know! He'd done what he could. He had.  
  
It was their doing. They were the ones that put him in that hellhole, that stole...everything. They walked away. The heroes. The great Colonel Smith and his legendary team.  
  
How dare they? How dare they!  
  
He came to a sudden stop. Dizzy. Couldn't catch his breath. His head was reeling with pictures, his body could feel every cut, every blow...everything. God, he'd done what he could. He'd tried.  
  
Not hard enough.  
  
He closed his eyes, dropping to his knees in the mud by the shore. Just like the mud in the rice paddies...on that riverbank...  
  
Not hard enough...  
  
He just wanted to forget it. Forget it all! Why wouldn't they let him? Why wouldn't everyone just leave him alone?  
  
Just leave him the hell alone...  
  
*****  
  
Murdock stumbled again. He had to pay attention to where he was walking. Not that he thought it really mattered. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he had to find Hannibal.  
  
But he wasn't really sure that mattered, either.  
  
Face didn't want them. That was obvious. Not only did he not want them - he hated them. And Murdock could understand that as well. They'd earned his hatred.  
  
At least, Murdock had.  
  
He should've gone back for the body. He shoulda shoulda shoulda...  
  
He stumbled yet again, bumping into someone, felt them grab his arm. Great. He didn't need to fight some drunk now.  
  
"Sorry, sorry..."  
  
"Murdock!"  
  
He looked up, startled.  
  
"Hannibal!"  
  
"Are you all right? Have you seen Face?"  
  
Murdock looked down. "I'm okay, but Face..."  
  
"What happened? Where is he?"  
  
"I just left for a minute, Colonel. I swear. There was this lady out in the -"  
  
"Never mind that. Where's Face?"  
  
"He took off that way." Murdock pointed off into the darkness. "I told him about Arne, and not going back for the body, and he just...got all cold and..."  
  
"Okay, okay. We'll find him. You go on back to the restaurant, wait in the van."  
  
"But, Hannibal..."  
  
"Just do it, Murdock." Hannibal and BA started off at a trot.  
  
"Colonel, wait!"  
  
"What is it, Murdock?"  
  
Murdock gulped at the tone of voice. "He's...he's really pissed off at you, Hannibal. He blames you for...for everything. He's really, really mad."  
  
Hannibal pursed his lips. "I figured that, Murdock. Don't worry. We'll handle it."  
  
Murdock watched as the two men ran off toward the lake. He didn't like the look on either of their faces. Somebody was going to get hurt. He just knew it.  
  
And now he'd been shut out. Hannibal and BA were just going to make matters worse. They didn't know how to handle someone like Face. Hell, Murdock had seen guys like that at the VA, and he didn't know what to do.  
  
He slowly headed back to the van, hands in pockets, head down. There had to be something he could do. There had to be.  
  
He never should've gone looking for Kyle. Never, never, never. Face may have been in trouble, but he had friends that would've helped him out. Now, he'd been taken away from them, and shoved in with guys he hated. Guys who would make him remember and live with what had happened, instead of just letting him be.  
  
Murdock kicked angrily at a stone, sending it skittering across the blacktop. It was all his fault. He should've just let things be.  
  
He finally reached the van and climbed into the back seat. He left the side door open, enjoying the cool breeze blowing in. He put his head back, closing his eyes. For the first time since starting this quest of his, he really, seriously, wished he were back in his familiar room at the VA. He longed for the routine, the sameness. For people who could help him when he needed it, and left him alone when he didn't.  
  
He wanted to go home.  
  
A truck rumbled past, and he looked up, frowning. Had he fallen asleep? What time was it? He leaned over toward the front seat, trying to see the clock in the glare of the street light.  
  
Nope. In fact, less than two hours had passed since they stopped here to begin with. He shook his head. Why did it seem like forever?  
  
He started to sit back in his seat when he caught a glimpse of the glove box. Hannibal must've forgotten to shut it tight when he got his cigars. He reached over, pushing the door, but it wouldn't close. Grimacing, he climbed into Hannibal's seat and reached in to shove aside whatever was in the way.  
  
And then he saw it.  
  
*****  
  
BA saw him first. Kneeling on the ground at the water's edge. Hannibal motioned for BA to stay back, while he moved up slowly, making just enough noise so Face would know someone was coming.  
  
It didn't seem to matter. He never moved.  
  
Hannibal stopped a few feet away. He didn't know if Face was still angry, or if he'd slipped back into his safety zone, but Hannibal wasn't taking any chances.  
  
"Face?"  
  
A quick glance, no more. Hannibal sighed. Better than nothing. Just the same, he maintained his distance. What he had to say was bound to generate a reaction, and not a pleasant one.  
  
"Face, I'd like you to just listen for a minute. Because I think there are some things you need to know before we can move on. So will you hear me out?"  
  
Nothing. Hannibal waited.  
  
Okay. He didn't say no.  
  
"Face, after the robbery, when Dimitri took off, things got...out of whack. Badly. We thought you had been killed in a fall, along with Dimitri."  
  
Face straightened but remained silent. Hannibal glanced up at BA, but couldn't see his expression. This was going to be painful for all of them.  
  
"Face, the reason we thought you'd been killed is because that's what Wiley told us when he came back. He said he saw you and Dimitri at the bottom of a cliff. Dead. With the PL coming in, we had no choice. So we left."  
  
Face stood up suddenly, still staring out at the water, still silent. Hannibal stayed where he was.  
  
"I give you my word, Face. If I had any idea that you were still alive, I never would have left. We would have found you, one way or another. We would have come for you."  
  
"It's true, Face." BA stepped closer, voice soft, but firm. "Hannibal wanted to go back and make sure, even when the hills were crawling with gooks. But...me and Wiley wouldn't let him."  
  
Face's head tilted back, and Hannibal could see his eyes were closed.  
  
Then they snapped open. And he turned.


	24. Chapter 24

**October 14 1976 - 7 Days**  
  
"Face, I'd like you to just listen for a minute... "  
  
When hadn't he listened to Hannibal? Maybe not hard enough. Hadn't heard what he'd really been saying. But he'd listen now. Try anyway. It was hard. Had been for a long time. Like back in the caves, with Kyle and Arne. He'd be caught in a conversation and suddenly have no idea what they were talking about. Sometimes he thought he'd been following along and would say something, only to have them look at him like he was from some other planet. Or at that hospital. He'd get physically exhausted just trying to follow what Cleary was saying. Finally, he just gave up. Not like with Jenny. Things weren't complicated with her...not completely.  
  
"...out of whack. Badly. We thought you had been killed in a fall, along with Dimitri."  
  
He straightened. Dimitri. The gooks took him. Their prize. Hannibal should've come back for Dimitri at least. He was important. Big time important. But they hadn't come back. Why come back for bodies? But how did Hannibal know there were bodies? Because there weren't any. Dimitri hadn't died...Damn. Sometimes he felt his mind was like a hamster, running on one of those little wheels. Just running and running, and going nowhere. Nowhere, and getting there fast.  
  
"Face, the reason we thought you'd been killed is because that's what Wiley told us when he came back..."  
  
Wiley?  
  
He stood suddenly. What was Hannibal trying to do? Shift the blame to a dead man? Another betrayal? Did he think this one wouldn't matter? Who cares about a dead man, right? Another dead man. Wiley wouldn't do that. He hadn't liked Face, never made any bones about that, but he would never... no. No, Wiley could. He could do something like that. Face hadn't forgotten how Wiley was at Chow's camp and during the escape. Hadn't forgotten what he'd said on the chopper, after...after Cook went down. Wiley blamed him for that, for...for damn near everything that went wrong. Even when things worked, Wiley had to find something wrong about the way Face had done things, gotten stuff...there was always something wrong with him. Wiley could've done it, then. And that meant Hannibal wasn't...  
  
No. It was Hannibal's call. Hannibal should've made sure. He should have. Instead, he'd listened to Wiley. That time, and how many other times before? How many times had Face believed Hannibal was actually trying to connect, actually believed in Face...all lies. Stupid. Stupid! He'd learned to handle everything as just business, nothing more. So no one could touch him. It was a secure way of living, knowing that no one could catch him unawares.  
  
But Hannibal had. And then he'd destroyed everything.  
  
"...We would have come for you."  
  
That's what I thought, Hannibal. But I was far too trusting, wasn't I? Trust - trust makes you too weak to survive. Especially against betrayal. Betrayal destroyed everything you and I built. Thought we'd built. And yet, it's that same betrayal that made me remember that I am totally on my own. That people only want me for what I can get for them, or until I threaten them in some way - their ego, their control, their security.  
  
Was that it? Was that why Wiley had lied? Because I threatened him in some way? Yeah. Threatened his position with Hannibal. Wiley wanted me out of the way. But Hannibal was the leader. He made the decisions, not Wiley. Hannibal. And he decided to leave me behind. Decided to let me die back there.  
  
But you didn't kill me, Hannibal. Instead, you made me stronger. Smarter.  
  
I didn't die.  
  
I survived.  
  
"...But...me and Wiley wouldn't let him."  
  
Was it really true? Or was it just more lies to cover up their guilt? Would BA turn his back on his best friend that easily? Why not? BA was Hannibal's man. He followed him blindly. They all had. But if Wiley had lied...  
  
He looked up at the sky, the dizzying sky. Closed his eyes. God, he was so confused. It was like everything happened in little snippets and they never quite came together in a sensible way. Would it ever change? Would he ever be free of it? Like a huge weight pushing down on his chest, not letting him breathe. Suffocating. Slowly. Constantly. Wanted to be free of all of it, so badly he wanted to scream and hit and kick. Knowing it wouldn't change anything. God, sometimes it seemed the only emotions he could feel anymore were pain and anger. He didn't think there was anything else. It wasn't right. It wasn't right, dammit!  
  
And all because of him...  
  
He looked at this man, the man with Hannibal's eyes glowing at him, and he wanted to run. No. No. No more running. Destroy it. Destroy them. Gouge them out of his face. This wasn't the old Hannibal, the Hannibal that trusted him, that he trusted, that had given him the chance to...he wanted him back. He wanted it all back. There weren't words - like having your insides ripped out. Over and over. That's what Hannibal had done to him. What this man had done to him.  
  
This imposter. This liar. This traitor.  
  
The weight on his chest...pressing harder...and harder. Couldn't breathe. And the buzzing coming faster and faster...couldn't think...  
  
Hannibal's eyes, staring at him.  
  
Not right. None of this was right.  
  
You betrayed me, Hannibal. You betrayed me and destroyed...everything.  
  
*****  
  
The moment Face turned, BA moved a step closer. He knew that stance, that look, remembered seeing it countless times in Nam. Watching the gooks, getting ready to spring the trap, the LT would get so still, so stone cold still, but you could just feel the energy coming out of him. And then, just before Hannibal gave the signal, his eyes would narrow, just a tiny bit, like he was focusing everything on the next few seconds.  
  
He hoped Hannibal remembered.  
  
BA took another step, and Face turned, ever so slightly, looking directly at him now. It took BA by surprise. Face had never looked at him like that before. A warning look. No. That was no warning. That was a threat.  
  
Involuntarily, he stepped back, and Face turned, looking again at Hannibal. BA looked at him as well.  
  
Yeah, Hannibal remembered.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal was expecting it. Thought he was out of the strike zone. But he never saw it coming. One second those eyes were boring into his; the next he was flat on his back, quite sure his jaw was someplace other than his face. Out of the haze, he saw BA rushing up behind Face. Face twisted to meet him and suddenly the two men were on the ground, Face's arms around BA's neck, legs wrapped around BA's waist.  
  
Shit!  
  
Still feeling the effects of the blow, he rolled to his side before moving to his knees, trying to scramble to his feet, but it was too late. By the time he stood up, Face had rolled BA away and was staring once more at him.  
  
That's when Hannibal knew he was definitely in deep shit.  
  
*****  
  
He didn't really feel the blow on his knuckles. A strange sensation. Almost as if he were standing to one side, watching. Almost. When BA tried to take him down, he could feel the anger, the frustration. Almost overwhelmingly so. Pulling with his arms, pushing with his legs, he felt BA's struggle for air, and then the sudden relaxation. He rolled BA off into a heap at his side and saw Hannibal glaring at him. Heard the threat in his voice. He'd had it with threats.  
  
He'd had it with everything.  
  
Face knew Hannibal didn't really want a fight. Didn't care. This was his. All his. Those back-alley fights - just letting off steam. This was the one he'd been waiting for, wishing for. Wiley - fuck him. Whether their story was true or not, Wiley was dead, out of reach. Smith was here.  
  
And Smith was the one he'd been waiting for, all these years.  
  
*****  
  
Hannibal barely had time to gain his balance. He took one staggering step toward BA. Face was a blur, ramming into him, knocking him to the ground, Hannibal's back scraping across the gravel with the force of the collision. Then he felt the arm across his neck, pressing. Hard. He grabbed it, pushing back desperately, but he had no leverage. Damn. He shoved his hips up and twisted, throwing Face to the side and rolling over with him, his turn now to press. He didn't go for the neck; instead, he held Face's arms across his chest, trying only to control him.  
  
"Face, dammit, listen to me! We - "  
  
Suddenly, Hannibal found himself shoved to the side; he pushed away, rolling free and started to his feet. A quick glance over at BA, who was just starting to come around. That's when Face hit him from behind, pulling him backwards and down. This time, Hannibal was at least ready for the choke, and grabbed Face's wrists, shoving them away.  
  
How long they might have wrestled back and forth this way Hannibal had no idea. He was trying determinedly not to cause any real damage - that was the last thing he wanted to do. But the more Hannibal countered Face's attacks, the more determined and vicious they became. Stupidly, the realization only hit him then.  
  
Face really meant to kill him.  
  
*****  
  
He woke up slowly, painfully. His neck hurt like hell, his Adam's apple felt like it had been shoved back to his spine. He opened his eyes, slowly. Very slowly. It seemed to take every muscle in his body, and then he had to close them almost immediately. Little lights - little but brighter than hell - twirling around, dizzying.  
  
Shit.  
  
He lay for another moment, trying to remember what happened. He'd gone after the LT. The LT had slugged the colonel, and BA had tried to stop him.  
  
But then what?  
  
He closed his eyes even tighter. What happened then? Face had turned, and then his arms were around BA's neck. Damn, man. He should've expected that. That skinny little asshole had taken BA down like he was...  
  
Where was Face? More important - where was Hannibal?  
  
He forced his eyes open, didn't look up at the sky and those damn lights. Didn't help much, but it was better. Rolling carefully over to his side, he raised his head and looked around.  
  
He scrambled to his feet then, staggering, determined. It seemed to take a lifetime, his vision sliding from side to side along with his feet. A burst of anger, of energy and he was slamming into Face, knocking him off Hannibal, both of them landing in a heap in the mud and gravel, Face beneath him, struggling, BA holding him down.  
  
That was all he could do.  
  
*****  
  
It took Hannibal a split second to realize the pressure on his chest was gone, along with the arm across his neck. Only one reason for that. He rolled quickly to his knees and stared straight into Face's eyes.  
  
Panicked eyes.  
  
Pleading eyes.  
  
It took another moment for that to register. Then Hannibal saw BA. On top of Face, holding him down.  
  
Holding him down...  
  
"BA! Get off! It's all right, get off him!"  
  
BA looked up at him, confused. Even in the moonlight, Hannibal could see he wasn't really focusing.  
  
"Get off, BA. It's okay." He gave him a little shove - well, little for someone BA's size. As soon as he was on the ground beside Face, Hannibal turned around to the lieutenant. Face hadn't moved except to hide his head in his arms, his legs pulled up tight to his chest. Hannibal shook his head. Damn.  
  
Seeing that Face wasn't going anywhere, or attacking anyone, he turned his immediate attention to BA.  
  
"You okay, BA?"  
  
BA, now sitting up, resting his weight on one arm, nodded and mumbled something in the affirmative. Although breathing hard, at least he was breathing. Hannibal knew it would take a while yet before he came to completely.  
  
Hannibal moved back over by Face. Head still covered, his whole body was shaking. Hannibal wasn't sure what it was from - adrenalin, cold...fear. Knowing he was taking his life in his hands, he followed his instincts. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him up, holding him as tightly as he could. Face struggled only for a moment, and then gave up. And Hannibal knew he'd truly given up.  
  
The three men sat in the moonlight, the only sound now the gentle lapping of the water on the shore.  
  
*****  
  
Murdock had been watching the traffic, the people. He hadn't seen this many trucks since leaving Nam. And there was such a variety of people - not only truckers, which seemed to be whole 'nother breed, but the tourists...he wondered why people had to dress so...strangely when on vacation. Then again, it would be something to bear in mind for when he got out.  
  
If he got out.  
  
No. No, that was a definite when. He had to get better now. Couldn't help Face if he were nuts himself.  
  
Speaking of Face, where the hell were those guys? He leaned over to check the clock and felt the sheaf of papers in his waistband poke him. Hard. He leaned back, looking guiltily through the van's windows. He hadn't dared take the whole folder; Hannibal would've seen that in a minute. So he'd just taken the papers out, and shoved an old newspaper in the folder. Then he'd been afraid the guys would come back before he could hide the papers. Looked like that was a wasted fear. He should get his duffle and hide them in the bottom. Now. Before they did come back.  
  
But what if they suddenly came around the corner now? He glanced back where his duffle lay in the back. Where Face had been using it for a backrest. Would he notice? No, how could he? They'd be flat on the bottom. It would only take a second to reach back and shove them in.  
  
He stared through the windows. No sign of them. Well, why shouldn't he be messing with his own duffle? No crime in that. He had a couple comics in there. Yeah. He was just getting his comics out. Not hiding papers he wasn't supposed to have. Why would they think that, anyway? All Hannibal had to do was open the glove compartment and he'd see the folder right there, still full. Full of the wrong things, but full.  
  
He bit his lip, irresolute, and then climbed quickly into the back. He shoved the papers in, resisting the temptation to start reading. That would be really crazy. He zipped the bag and plopped down in his seat. Looked out the window.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He sat for a few more minutes, getting more and more nervous. The trucks and the people no longer distracted him.  
  
The guys should've been back by now.  
  
*****  
  
He felt the arms, holding him. Tight. Too tight, but he didn't squirm, didn't try to get away. Not anymore. And he wasn't sure why. When BA had been...he couldn't get away. Had to, but BA was too heavy, too determined to...he knew it wasn't that. He knew it, and yet...  
  
He'd looked up, and seen Hannibal, staring at him, and it was just like before. Long before. Before he knew...when he thought Hannibal would...he wanted to call out, beg him to save him. Save him...this time. Wanted to, but couldn't...  
  
And then Hannibal had anyway.  
  
And it made him feel ashamed. Ashamed of his fear. Ashamed of his doubt. Ashamed of everything he was, and he'd just wanted to hide. Hide like he had in the jungle, in the camp...  
  
And then Hannibal had pulled him up and he'd tried to get away. He didn't want to be touched, didn't want to be restrained, controlled...but Hannibal was too strong. They were all too strong. He couldn't fight it. Wasn't sure he wanted to anymore. There was something different this time. It felt...good. He felt secure. Protected. Like he didn't have to fight anymore. And he didn't want to. Not now. Not right now. Right now all he wanted was to feel safe.  
  
He really was a coward. And he no longer cared.  
  
*****  
  
The van was pulling into the far outskirts of LA. Murdock sat in Hannibal's seat in front; he hadn't wanted to, but the colonel wanted to keep everyone away. He alone sat in back with Face, holding onto him like he would break apart if he let go. Murdock couldn't tell if Face was asleep or not. He never opened his eyes. Even when they'd got him into the van, he'd stumbled in like he was sleepwalking.  
  
Nobody had to tell Murdock something really bad had happened. BA had come slowly up to the van after a really long time and hadn't wanted to talk at all. Murdock knew for sure something bad had happened when BA motioned him into the driver's seat and pointed down toward the lake. And Murdock had had to help Hannibal get Face into the van; BA just sat in front, blinking his eyes and massaging his throat. Only when Hannibal and Face were set up in the back did BA move to the driver's seat, and Hannibal had told Murdock to sit up front.  
  
And as the sun had come up, Murdock had looked to the back, and seen the black bruises on Hannibal, and all three had been covered in dried mud and grass stains. But no one had said a word yet; he only knew there had been a fight. A bad one.  
  
He looked ahead, watching the highway slinking toward them. In another couple hours, they'd be back at the VA. He'd be back in his world.  
  
And they would head off into theirs.  
  
**FINI**


End file.
